Dark Wolf
by Del'archange
Summary: A schizoid science student wakes up in the body of a young servant in Castle Cousland. He spends his time writing blasphemous scientific texts, avoiding intimacy, and debating whether he cares enough to change the story.
1. Chapter 1

He awoke, like many mornings before, to the rough baritone of mabari barking, and he knew with certainty, as he had every morning for the past decade, that he was still very far from home. He glanced at the neatly printed handmade calendar hanging above the lumpy servant's cot which was his own, and he sighed slowly, rubbing his tired green eyes. The date was Harvestmere 14, 9:29 Dragon.

'Happy Birthday, Noel, you're still in Thedas' he thought with another sigh.

It had been exactly ten years since the eccentric pre-vet student/casual gamer, woke up in the body of Leannen, the four year old human son of a teenaged elven servant in Castle Cousland, Highever. Many times in his previous lifetime, the scholar daydreamt of living in a fantasy world; and one day, he assumed, he simply never woke up. He coped with his being on Thedas the same way he had always coped with adversity; he bottled away his emotions on the matter and simply accepted whatever life threw at him with apathy.

His wish of leaving his old world behind had been granted in the most literal sense, and though he mourned the loss of his loved ones, whose faces, after so many years, he hardly remembered, he simply kept living with only the faintest belief that one day he would wake up and be in his messy dorm room, with his cellist girlfriend, her pet iguana, and his tightly packed academic schedule. The irony of his longing for the real world was not lost on him.

The boy lazily rolled out of bed and turned around to make up the sheets, his body so used to the mundane task that he hardly noticed his arms moving. It was his birthday; in this world and the last. His body was fourteen, but his mind was now twenty-eight. It was dark and cool in the servant's quarters, which were bellow the kitchen and across from the dog kennels. The oil lamp hanging from the ceiling flickered as it struggled to remain alight, casting distorted shadows across the room and over the empty bed that the boy's mother had slept in before her recent marriage to an alienage elf.

With another glance around the quiet room and at the sleeping form of another elven servant, he changed into a plain brown tunic which passed his sniff test, stepped into his ugly, worn boots and slipped out into the dark hall. No other servants were about and aside from the burning of lamps, all was silent. The sun had had yet to rise, and so there was no need for him to begin his chores. Still, rather than go back to his cooling bed, he made his way to the kennels to check on the dogs. It was rare for them to bark so early in the morning; mabari understood how rude it was to needlessly wake people.

"Hey, fellas," he whispered conversationally to the four caged war hounds as he slipped into the room, scanning the floors for signs of giant rats.

The dogs wagged their tails and pawed about excitedly in place, no signs of fear or distress.

He ran his calloused fingers along the kennel bars as he passed through the room, making his way to the very last cage, where his favourite mabari was panting happily. He knelt down and took the great beast's head in his hands, affectionately rubbing behind its ears. The dog was pure white with blue eyes, very rare for its breed, and highly affectionate. It was bonded to Fergus Cousland.

He noticed the other dogs were staring at him expectantly, likely awaiting their breakfast.

"Oh, don't look at me like that," he whispered, not wanting to speak aloud as his voice had been cracking lately, "The kennel master will be coming to take care of you soon, I'm not allowed to feed you."

"You should probably make some people friends. We smell better."

The boy jumped up and backed up against the cage with a nervous smile. None other than Aedan Cousland, the potential future commander of the grey, had entered the room without him noticing. He had an opened bottle of expensive Antivan wine in one hand and a covered wicker picnic basket in the other, and was dressed in his casual, but still very fine, hunting clothes. He had apparently returned from the group hunting trip he and Fergus had left on nearly a week prior.

"G-good morning, My Lord," the ex-gamer said softly with a small smile after deciding against any of the many witty retorts that he always had prepared but should never use when speaking to a nobleman.

"Boy, it isn't morning 'till I've woken up!" The younger Cousland spun and sat down on a wooden chair close to the door. His own mabari plopping down beside him, dried blood in its fur and around its jaws. He took a swig from his bottle and motioned the young servant closer. It seemed he was a little tipsy, likely celebrating a successful hunt.

"Your name is Leannen, isn't it?" He set the basket on the floor between his feet and looked up, squinting at the youth.

"Yes," the boy nodded, still speaking as softly as possible despite being somewhat insulted that the young lord didn't recognize him, given that they'd lived in the same castle for ten years and were often practising side-by-side at the archery range on quiet days.

"Yes." The man repeated, drawing out on the's' as he took another drink and muttered, "Yes, you are."

"What?" the boy furrowed his brow. "Ser, do you need something?" He took a tentative step forward and stopped outside arms length away from the nobleman. He didn't know Aedan to be a violent or cruel person, but he'd never actually been alone with him before then, or seen him drunk for that matter, so he remained wary.

"I found something," Aedan slurred, bending down to pick up the basket and placed it in his lap. He took a final drink from the bottle, emptying it and dropping it to the floor with a loud clunk that made the boy jump.

"Biggest white wolf I've ever seen...killed it with a bolt through the eye."

Noel looked down at the basket, hoping the nobleman wasn't about to drunkenly show him the bloody severed head of his kill.

"Then we found this guy," he opened the basket and pulled out a fluffy, sleep-disoriented white puppy, not yet a four weeks old.

"Ah!" The boy stepped closer with a huge smile, his love of baby animals overshadowing his previous caution. He reached out, momentarily forgetting the social graces that he had spent the past decade learning, and picked the puppy out of the lord's hand, holding it close to his chest and cooing softly. He realized, after a moment, how terribly improper that was and sheepishly looked up at the nobleman.

"Arl Bryland wanted to leave him to die" Aedan leaned forward, tugging at the pup's tiny tail and the boy glared, trying to remember who Bryland was.

"But look at him," Aedan continued, "He's part mabari."

At that the boy looked down and inspected the fluffy white pup more closely. It did indeed have mabari features; the telltale muscular paws and small, straight ears at the top of its head.

"Even if he's not purebred, it's still there. Noble blood doesn't dilute that easily."

Noel looked at the nobleman and he stared back, seeming as though something heavy was on his mind. His bright green eyes shone in the lamplight and he stood up quickly and threw an arm around the boy's shoulder, which stiffened at the contact.

"Well, Leann –Can I call you Leann? I'm quite drunk. Show me to my room?"

Hiding his discomfort at the man's closeness, Noel gave the high-born a friendly smile, wrapped his arm around the teetering teen's waist and adjusted the now sleeping puppy in his other arm before leading the way to the other end of the castle. The bloodstained mabari stayed behind, likely knowing he'd find his meal sooner in the kennels than in his master's bedchambers.

* * *

People were beginning to wake up as Noel softly closed Aedan's door behind him. The eighteen-year-old had ruffled his hair affectionately before unceremoniously dropping into his luxurious bed and falling asleep. Noel immediately turned to leave, but after a moment of thought, he put the puppy down and returned to quietly remove the nobleman's muddy boots from his feet and set them neatly by the bed. Again, he was about to leave; but he sighed and went back to fetch a blanket from the linen closet and draped it over the Cousland's sleeping form. Finally convinced he'd done his minimum required duty, the boy scooped up the pup and left.

He made his way to the kitchens, hoping he could craft a puppy formula using ingredients found in Ferelden, or else he'd have to try to wean the little guy early.

Fergus Cousland was leaning against the larder door, eating an apple. The room was otherwise empty.

"Good morning, My Lord," Noel bowed his head slightly, "Would you like me to fix something for your breakfast?"

"No, I'm about to head to bed, thank you." Fergus shook his head and looked up. "Did Aedan give you that?" he motioned towards the pup.

"Ah, well, he fell asleep so I assumed he wanted me to take care of it." He looked down and bounced the rousing puppy with a smile, his heart soaring at the sight of its big blue eyes. "I was going to make a milk substitute for him." Normally he didn't talk so much, especially not to someone of such high station, but the yawning whelp kept him distracted.

"Won't milk be enough?" The elder Cousland approached, looking curiously at the tiny animal.

"Oh, no, milk from an herbivore won't sustain a dog; they're more carnivorous, see, so they need more protein..." he stopped there, noticing the lord's strange look. "Sorry, My Lord, I'll ramble on forever if you give me the chance."

"It's alright," Fergus smiled softly, but his green eyes seemed sad all of a sudden. "You're a smart lad."

Noel's lips twitched and he looked around the room awkwardly, unsure how to take the compliment. "I read a lot, ser."

Fergus nodded. "Yes, your mother must have taught you; she was always reading. Not something you see every day in an elf...How is she?"

"The babe's due any time now, but she keeps insisting she's alright to work." Noel smiled fondly; he rather liked his 'Thedas mother' as he secretly referred her, but of course he had to pretend to be learning when she tried to teach him how to read.

To his surprise, the lord laughed almost fondly.

"Sounds like the old girl! I remember the day you were born; she was tidying my bedchambers when her water broke!"

"Really?"

"Oh yes, and she kept apologizing for the mess, poor young thing!"

The two chuckled for a moment before Fergus suddenly stopped, looking awkwardly around.

"Well," He took a final bite of his apple and threw the core over his shoulder, oblivious to the servant's eye twitch at the action. He waved towards the puppy, "you can keep him."

"Really?" Noel looked up, his eyes bright with shock and happiness. The elder Cousland brother tilted his head and slightly raised his left shoulder, which Noel had learned was a nobleman's shrug.

"No one else would want a wolf-dog. Take good care of him."

"Thank you," the boy whispered, looking down at the pup and smiling happily "And it's even my birthday!"

"Well," looking suddenly uncomfortable, Fergus made to leave. "Happy birthday," he said awkwardly as he left.

Noel stared after him, his fondness for the man growing. He had never completed a run-through of the game with human-noble origins, so he had no idea what would happen to Fergus, save that he would be Teyrn by the time of Awakenings.

'He'll be alright,' he assured himself as he let himself into the larder. 'It's the other Couslands who'll die...if don't do something.'

The time to choose was fast approaching.

* * *

**A/N:**

I feel like I'm breaking an unspoken rule by writing an insert in third person, but I felt like constantly showing an SPD person's thoughts and motivations would be alienating to the reader.


	2. Chapter 2

"That is mediocre penmanship, child, do be careful not to blotch the ink at the end of every sentence!"

Noel listened half-heartedly to Aldous educating the young squires as he quietly stacked books onto the new, taller, mahogany library shelves. It was slow work, since he had been ordered to write down the title and author of every tome in stock on a scroll and to make sure everything was alphabetized and divided by genre.

A few days after his birthday, Noel had been promoted from general servant to assistant librarian; a change he gladly accepted as it allowed and often even required him to read books. It was quiet, clean work, and neither Aldous nor Niels, the gentle librarian, paid him much mind apart from telling him what to do every now and then, so his new job was heaven compared to the endless cleaning, or kitchen work with Nan, who called him a mongrel.

A particularly inaccurate book on human biology drove him to ignore his work for a moment to jot down a few notes on a stray piece of paper to remind himself what to write about in his journal later. He wrote in code; English words spelled phonetically using the Cyrillic alphabet, which, to his knowledge, did not exist in Thedas, plus several invented symbols to cover the few sounds that Cyrillic lacked.

When he first arrived (after the few days it took to come to terms with his situation) he began using the code to write down things he knew about the dragon age universe, lest he forget important details over the years. Eventually he came to use it to write whole journals filled with his otherworldly knowledge.

'_Blood is __not__ red because it carries the life spirit. Motherfucking haemoglobin.' _

He nodded at the note, sure that he wouldn't forget to write another entry about the circulatory system, and stored the paper in a hidden pocket he had sewn under his collar. He went back to work, fantasizing about tossing 'The Mysteries of the Human Body' into the fireplace and laughing maniacally as the grossly inaccurate pages blackened and the leather bindings cooked and shrivelled. A malicious smile graced him lips and he hummed a tune as he stacked books.

Months had passed since his birthday and he was growing antsy. He had no idea when exactly the blight would begin, but it was early spring 9:30 Dragon, so it couldn't be too far off.

The castle was unusually quiet this morning despite having several notable guests. The Teyrna had thrown another successful salon (which was a fancy social gathering of nobility and not anything resembling to a hair salon) just yesterday and several of Ferelden's reputable lords and ladies were currently sleeping off their late night.

For the first time since he began working as a servant at age six, Noel had been chosen to wait on the castle's guests and poor wine during the function. It was a nice compliment, if nothing else but tedious, as lady Oriana handpicked the servants working at social functions based on physical appearance as was Antivan custom.

He had hoped to use the opportunity to absorb some highborn gossip and memorize some important faces. Instead, he was ordered to stand behind the head table and keep the wine flowing, and ended up practising his poker face as Lady Landra Lorren downed goblet after goblet and flirted relentlessly with an uncomfortable-looking Aedan. Her son sat, face palming, a few seats down, his cheeks as red as his hair. Noel poured the poor boy a sympathy glass and shot him an 'I feel ya, bro' look when their eyes briefly met.

By the time dessert had arrived, the noblewoman was running her hand along Aedan's right knee and he was staring ahead, eyes wide, like a deer in the headlights. The only ones in any position to see this was Noel from his place in the background and Oriana, who was sitting directly across from them.

The beautiful Antivan was hiding her laughter in her goblet. Finally, when her brother-in-law was looking like he'd gladly cut off his sword hand for an excuse to politely make his leave, she made eye contact with Noel and glanced towards Aedan, then slowly raised and lowered her eyebrows towards the exit.

The servant gave an inconspicuous nod and hid his amused smile as he turned around to place his wine jug down on the serving table and slink up to the potential warden's left side. No one noticed him move; they were accustomed to filtering out the help.

"My Lord," he said loud enough to draw the attention of the teen, as well as a few of the guests in the immediate radius. Oriana had pulled out a fashionable Orlesian fan to better hide her smile.

He bent down to whisper in the young noble's ear, just loud enough for the lord sitting to his left to overhear.

"Your mabari is 'guarding' the kitchen doorway again and won't let anyone pass. If you could...possibly? The staff are rather frightened."

Aedan turned his head slowly to look him in the eye, a confused look on his face. Noel stared back with meaning until realization dawned on the older teen.

"Yes, of course." He said somewhat loudly before rotating his head to look the guests nearest to him in the eyes. "I'm terribly sorry, dear guests, but there's something quite urgent I must attend to." He waited patiently for a moment, as was protocol, for the guests to wave him off and say things along the lines of 'Yes, of course!' He then bid his farewells, nodded to his family, and left as quickly as was socially acceptable.

Noel went back to pouring wine while the lord who had overheard his 'message' eagerly told the guests nearest him what he had heard.

Oriana leaned over to her right and whispered something in her husband's ear, her eyes on Noel. The boy gave an awkward smile when Fergus looked up and their eyes met, but the man looked away quickly and turned to talk to the lord at his right about Aedan's recent fighting tournament victory.

The rest of the night was terribly dull; spent pouring wine, helping drunken dignitaries to their carriages or guest quarters, and cleaning up. Oriana, he noticed, had stared at him out of the corner of her eye most of the night, and he took it to mean she was pleased with him.

He didn't get to sleep until well past midnight. Still, he had to get up early to work in the library.

The boy yawned into the back of his hand as he read the first chapter of a book to figure out its genre. The young squires had finished their morning lessons and gone, and he had no idea where Aldous and Niels had gone off to. He was alone in the library when one of the overnight guests wandered in, looking impressed. The entrance wasn't visible from the unorganized corner that Noel was working in, so he was surprised when Dairren Lorren strolled around the corner of a bookshelf and into view.

Immediately, Noel jumped up and gave a respectful nod. He racked his brain for the squire's name and came up with nothing besides 'Bann Lorren and Lady Landra's son.'

"Good day, my Lord," he said with a welcoming smile. "I must apologize for the mess; this section of the library is currently being reorganized."

"Ah," the Bann's son was momentarily taken aback by the bright, seemingly authentic happy-to-see-you smile that could only be perfected through years working as a small-town waiter desperate for tips, "that's quite alright; I'm still impressed. Are they all real?" He pulled a book off a nearby shelf and flipped through it.

It was so frightfully fashionable for nobles to have libraries lately that many filled their shelves with beautifully bound empty pages.

"As the guy in charge of keeping them dusted, I can assure you there is not an empty tome in this room."

He rather wished that there were; he'd have a lot more coin saved up if he didn't always have to go out to buy new journals to write and sketch in.

"I'm Dairren," the young smiled and nodded, his arms at his sides; it wouldn't be proper for him to shake a commoner's hand.

"Ah, you're Bann Loren's son! I'm Leannen, the assistant librarian here. It is an honour to meet you." Noel smiled again, he caught himself instinctively raising his hand and masked the movement by turning around to pick up a heavy book from his pile.

He hoped the squire wouldn't talk to him for too long.

"That is an interesting accent you have." _ God. Dammit._

"Oh," he gave a curt laugh, "it usually doesn't show, but it slips through sometimes...I spoke Orlesian when I was younger, but I've mostly forgotten it." And that was essentially the truth.

He had been raised French-English bilingual, but years of disuse caused him to forget much of his French. The accent that Dairren caught was actually his Canadian English slipping through, as it often stubbornly did when he wasn't paying attention.

"Too bad; it is such a beautiful language!" The squire leaned against a bookshelf, seemingly intent on staying forever. "I studied at the University of Orlais last year, it was absolutely brilliant." He waved his hand in the air slowly for emphasis.

_Oh, God, I don't care._

"The library there must have been much grander than ours."

Noel gave another smile and started stacking books again –improperly, unfortunately, but he promised himself he'd fix everything once the redhead let him be.

"It was like nothing I had ever seen!" he continued, nodding his head enthusiastically. "I actually got lost in it one night and gave up trying to find my way out! I slept in a corner."

The boy genuinely laughed at that

"Hey now," Aedan called from the doorway, stalking into the library with a teasing smile, "you aren't paid to have fun!"

"I'm not paid to breathe either, but I'd kill myself if I..." he looked around self-consciously, realizing he was being too familiar, "...stopped."

Aedan and Dairren blinked simultaneously before laughing.

The three ended up talking about various light topics, upon which Noel gave none of his opinions, but supplied plentiful facts and historical tidbits that he had read about, until Aldous returned and promptly scolded him for delaying the library's reorganization. The young noblemen left swiftly under the old historian's glower and Noel went back to work, moving as quickly as possible to make up for lost time.

* * *

As the blight was fast approaching, Noel had taken to rereading and organizing his many, many notebooks. He knew he wouldn't be able to stay at Castle Cousland for very much longer and he wouldn't be able to carry around his weight in books everywhere. Most of his books were jumbled notes, journal entries, anecdotes, and drawings, but he also had also written two large books. The first was scientific, covering mostly biology, and included a recipe for penicillin. The second could be considered a manifesto, but it was mostly an analysis of ethics and morality based entirely on his old humanities classes. It also included several chapters on religion, liberty, equality, basic human rights (which he renamed 'sentient rights' for lack of a better, racially neutral word) and his opinions on slavery and mage oppression.

He wrote up a reference chart for his Cyrillic code and hid it in a spare copy of 'The Mysteries of the Human Body,' and hid his books among the hundreds of others in the library. To be extra careful, he gave them misleading, boring titles.

The biology book was called 'A Literary Analysis of Zelda DiMario's _Mundane Properties of Ocean Mud _Part IV' and the first few pages were filled with a long-winded, pretentious drawl about how much the 'author' was fascinated by wet dirt.

Being more paranoid about the manifesto, he went overboard in its disguise.

I was called 'Begotten: A Comprehensive Genealogy of Dwarven Smelters' and the first five pages went: Ezekiel begat Maul and Maul begat Sauron and Sauron begat Paul, and so on. Then he cut several pages in the middle of the book shorter than the others, so if someone tried to open it to a random page they would open it to the middle and see another five pages of people being begotten.

The other notebooks he divided into two piles; 'safe' and 'hide it well'.

In the safe pile were his newer journals, which contained only harmless drawings, normal journal entries, and a few scribbles of academic knowledge. These he would leave behind under his cot

Everything else was what contained references to this world's future. He would lock them in a small metal chest, and then lock that chest in a larger chest, which was hidden underneath the floorboards of his mother and step-father's alienage home.

He picked up his oldest journal and opened it gingerly; most of the pages were loose pieces of paper. The Cyrillic was riddled with mistakes, and French words were weaved here and there into the dialogue. He pulled out one of the first pages, written on the ripped title page of a book on the Cousland family history, and read the first paragraph.

_My mother is Métis; she's a plump, pretty-faced small-town waitress with an incredibly warm smile. My father is a stoic, often absent Russian businessman who I've begun to suspect might be in the Russian mafia considering, for my last birthday, he gave me a gigantic, dented (and bloodstained?) gold-ruby ring and told me "If ever you are in _Moskva_, wear this and no one will bother you."_

He put the page back and threw the book into the 'hide' pile, his heart heavy.

It was getting dark, and soon his roommates would drag themselves into their beds and order him to turn out the lamps. Noel gathered the books that he had deemed dangerous into the strong leather satchel that his step father had given him for his birthday, and made his leave. He was intent on going down to the alienage, which was a stone's throw from the castle's back wall, and hiding his journals promptly.

He turned a corner quickly and had to stop short, having almost run directly into the Teyrn of Highever.

"Your Grace!" He backed up in surprise, raising his hands. "I'm sorry; I wasn't watching where I was going!"

The Teyrn nodded. He looked the way he always seemed to look; gentlemanly and good, but this time with a touch of melancholy.

Noel looked down the hallway behind him and cocked his head, too humble to ask, but wondering why such a high lord was walking (alone, no less) in the lower section of the castle.

"Are you leaving for the night, child?" The Teyrn asked, his tone even.

"Ah," Noel blinked. The Teyrn had never spoken to him before. "Yes, your lordship, I wanted to spend the night with my family."

Bryce said nothing and the boy grew nervous.

"I actually haven't visited in two months and I hear my baby sister is very cute now that she's grown a chin..." he babbled, fidgeting with the hem of his tunic.

The nobleman stared quietly for a moment, his face serious.

"Family is very important" he said slowly. "You should some take time off to properly spend with them."

"W-well, I..." Noel ran a hand through his hair nervously.

"Take two weeks."

"W-what?" his eyes widened

Hands folded neatly behind his back, Bryce slowly walked past the boy and continued down the hall.

"Take two weeks off. Starting now. I assure you, the library will be fine without you for a time." He said without looking back.

"B-but..." Noel whispered, looking the hallway and at the Teyrn's relaxed form.

There was nothing he could do. He couldn't refuse an order from the Teyrn, especially not one the man believed he was giving out of kindness.

It was early Bloomingtide (May). Darkspawn sightings were growing more and more frequent. The events of origins could begin any day.

* * *

"He's close" Kels whispered, tiptoeing silently through the forest. The elf weaved effortlessly around branches without making a sound.

Noel followed closely after his step-father, crossbow at his side. He moved slowly, deliberating each step to be as silent as possible as he scanned his surroundings. There was a smear of blood on a young birch tree and an obvious trail of snapped twigs heading north. Their target was finally succumbing to his wounds.

A moment later they stepped into a clearing and saw him standing still and breathing heavily, a broken arrow shaft in his abdomen and another in his haunch. The stag caught sight of them and made to run.

Kels raised his shortbow and Noel aimed his crossbow.

Before either could fire, an enormous white beast burst out from the trees and launched itself at the deer, grabbing on to its jugular and ripping it out with the momentum of the jump.

Kels lowered his bow slowly and turned to give the boy next to him a blank look.

"Well..." he slung his weapon over his back "that just takes the fun out of it."

Noel gave a surprised laugh, numbly nodding in agreement as his dog trotted up happily, blood staining its coarse white fur. At just eight months old, the thick-coated hybrid was already taller than a purebred mabari and, apparently, had quite the killer's instinct.

"Didn't you leave Buddy at home?"

"I thought I did!" The boy reached down to run in fingers along a clean patch of fur at the back of the monster's neck.

The wolf-dog barked happily. Noel had never officially named him, but he often referred to him as his buddy and, since the term was apparently only used casually in the Dwarven accent, everyone assumed it was his name.

Kels laughed and pulled out his longsword. "Well, son, this roast won't carry itself home!"

The stag wasn't too large to carry back the Alienage between the two of them, but Noel drew the short straw and had the carry the mutilated front end, soaking his back and shoulder with blood.

The elves cheered when they returned with their kill, and several cooks carried it off to begin preparation.

That night the whole alienage would be throwing a going away party for Kels' nephew, who would be leaving with a trade caravan in the morning to be married in another Alienage. The meat they were originally planning on serving, which Kels and Noel had provided the week before, was destroyed by giant grey rats and the two had to rush out last minute to provide more.

It was the last day of his vacation, and Noel was growing anxious.

He made a beeline to his family's home to change his clothes. He kept a few belongings there, but despite many invitations, he still refused to live there full time. He had visited with his mother several times a week since he arrived on Thedas, and he even had a gaggle of elven (and one fellow elf-blooded) cousins who he hung out with when he wanted to pretend he was his body's age, but the alienage could never be a home to him.

It was foul-smelling and the shanty houses were depressing, but worst of all, he, a human child, stood out from the crowds.

He preferred the castle, where he everything was tidy and he blended into the background like a stone in the mortar.

His mother was home, sitting with her younger cousin by the fire, both nursing their babies. She was a beautiful woman, his Thedas mother, with big blue eyes, copper skin and long ginger hair. The chubby baby girl in her arms had her eyes and her husband's platinum blond hair.

He said hello and went to get cleaned and changed in his bedroom. When he returned, the cousin had gone and his mother had prepared tea for him.

"I assume the hunt went well?" She asked conversationally as he took a sip of the bitter Fereldan tea.

"Venison is on the menu" he nodded.

There was a comfortable silence between them for a few minutes.

"Why don't you stay here with us? Don't you love us?" She bounced the baby in her arms and they both seemed to be looking at him questioningly with their huge elven eyes.

He groaned.

"Ma," he rolled his eyes and set the tea down on the table, "I love you; I just don't want to live in the alienage."

"Do you hate Kels?"

"I've always liked Kels. I told you to marry him, 'member?"

"It it the job? Because you can find work anywhere, you know. You don't have to go back there. Nelaros is leaving, so his father will be looking to train a new smith...He owes us a few favours..."

He sighed.

"Ma," he stretched the vowel, "I'm gonna go have fun with my friends."

"Yes, of course." She fidgeted, adjusting the baby. "It's just...I love you."

He raised an eyebrow, deciding she was being hormonal. "Love you too, Ma."

He was exhausted. Living in close quarters with his Thedas family had him sunken into a depression after the first few days. He loved them genuinely and dearly, but pretending to be a child 24/7 was wore him down and left him sneaking out with Buddy at night to sleep in the woods, just so he could listen to the rustling of leaves in the wind and pretend he was sleeping in his old backyard.

He felt like he was walking around with a great barrier around his heart and soul, incapable of connecting to the people around him in any way that was at all meaningful.

On earth, he had felt a similar lack of connection, but back then his aloofness had just been a quirk that his loved ones accepted. Here on Thedas it had to be everything about him, all the time. In this body he could never express his thoughts and opinions, or be anyone important.

He felt as though this barrier around him was growing tighter as the years edged on. Every time someone tried to speak with him and he had to carefully think about every word he said for fear of speaking above his station or mentioning something he had learned on earth, it physically hurt.

As he walked through the alienage with his dog trotting happily at his side, he finally realized what was eating him. He had thought it homesickness, ennui even.

He was lonely.

He hadn't actually intended on partying with the rest of the alienage, but he was wallowing in his depressing thoughts when his cousins called him over and his heart fluttered. For a moment he felt joining them for a drink of wine and a few card games would help him belong.

But he didn't belong. He had to force himself to drink two cups of water for every cup of wine he drank in order to keep himself from getting drunk and saying something strange. The other boys talked about girls he found too young to be attractive, and gossiped about people he didn't know or care about.

He ended up just sitting back and watching them be loud and merry and young.

By the time the food was brought out, everyone but him seemed to be drunk. A red-faced Nelaros was pushed onto a tall box and everyone shouted "speech!" until he started drunkenly babbling about how he was sad to go, but his wife would be worth it.

Noel had to catch him when he stepped down and nearly face-planted, and he ended up being tasked with helping the groom-to-be to his bed.

The blonde was dangerously close to falling asleep on his shoulder.

"Hey," Noel shrugged his shoulder to rouse the elf and keep him moving. They were far away from the crowd by then.

"What's your fiancée's name?" he asked, just to keep the older boy talking.

Nelaros seemed to light up.

"Kallian..." he sang, seeming ready to dance. "I have a drawing of her here..." he pulled a bundled and wine-soaked ball of paper from his pocket and tried to straighten it out. It tore, but he didn't seem to notice.

"Kallian Tabris" he sighed.

Noel froze and turned to stare at the blonde's face. He wasn't expecting that.

"What are the chances...?" he murmured, readjusting his grip on the drunk boy as he turned in at his doorstep.

The name of the city elf warden's fiancée wasn't in his notes; it just wasn't important enough to remember. It was a strange coincidence that it would turn out to be someone he knew, let alone his step-cousin.

Didn't the groom of a female Tabris die?

He helped the boy inside and left deep in thought, his pace quick. He had spent the past fortnight wallowing in self pity and depressing reflections, but hearing about Tabris pulled him back to the present. It was mid-Bloomingtide.

He looked over at the castle looming under the full moon and a cold shiver ran down his spine.

"No" He weaved past the throngs of happy elves and ignored his cousins trying to call him over.

'No, no, no..." He barged in to his family's home and grabbed his bow and quiver before turning around and dodging past the partying people once more.

He headed for the secret servant's entrance to the castle, which was underneath the Alienage Elder's home. He planned on breaking the lock, but was lucky enough to find it open. It was odd, considering how few people knew about the passage, but he didn't think too closely on it.

The pathway was dark and quiet save for the sound of his own footsteps and Buddy's panting. He hadn't even noticed that the dog had been following him since he grabbed his bow.

The larder was empty, and the castle was quiet.

He breathed a sigh of relief and walked into the kitchen, where Nan seemed to have fallen asleep in a chair, bottle of wine in hand.

He chuckled slightly and left the kitchen, glad that his fears seemed to have been in vain.

Then he heard a scream.

* * *

**And** there's chapter two. An extra tidbit:

Noel bought the chests for his books in the Alienage, and payed for them with four live rabbits that he had caught in snares. The shop-owner at first refused to accept live game animals as payment, but Noel spent a good twenty minutes explaining how quickly bunnies reproduced and how much more meat and fur four adults could produce in one year, and the shop-owner accepted. The dead alley between the shop and the next house was converted into a rabbit pen, and thus Noel unknowingly began a new domestication trend.


	3. Chapter 3

He froze, clutching his weapon and staring down the hall as the lamps flickered.

"Its okay" he muttered under his breath "you've been planning for this."

_Am I ready?_

He could hear the clanging of armoured men running.

"God, no."

"We're under attack!" he heard someone yell.

Against all his instincts screaming 'flight!' he forced himself to start moving towards the commotion. He glanced down at the dog by his side; he was wagging his tail, unaware of the seriousness of the situation.

_What's the plan?_ He quickly bent down to put his foot in the stirrup and ready his crossbow with a bolt. He had been practising with the weapon for over four years, and while he was no pro, he could hit an animal in the vitals from a good distance. He initially chose the weapon because it required relatively less strength and skill to fire than a traditional bow, but in the face of conflict, he was wishing he had something that didn't take almost ten seconds to load and fire.

He pressed himself against the wall and continued cautiously, cursing when he realized he had no other defence. He would be killed instantly if he were forced into close combat.

_You don't actually have a plan._

He stopped moving when he realized this was the truth. He had spent so many hours daydreaming about the attack that he had never actually planned anything more than 'roll in weapons blazing and save everyone'.

He looked back the way he came. _There's still time to flee. No one will even know you tried._

No. He had decided ages ago that, even if he did nothing else of importance in this world, he would at least try to save the Couslands. First stop: Oriana and Oren. If he could somehow keep them from dying before Aedan woke up, then they would survive and maybe even convince Bryce and Eleanor to escape with them.

Swallowing his fear, he marched forward with renewed conviction.

Ser Gilmore was leading the defence in the entrance hall, trying desperately to keep Howe soldiers away from the knights he had barring the doors.

Noel took aim and fired, catching a mage in the chest and sending him to the ground. He bent down and reloaded quickly, shooting another soldier in the back. When he came back up from reloading again, there was one running towards him with a raised broadsword.

Frightened, he stepped back and fired, getting the soldier in the shoulder and causing him to drop his sword. Buddy then tackled the man to the ground and ripped at his throat.

"Good boy" Noel whispered.

He stared at the dead soldier and frowned. He felt nothing. No guilt, no remorse, just his heart pumping fast.

Realizing the battle wasn't over; he readied his bow and moved forward. He caught sight of the Teyrn, already bleeding from the shoulder and fighting off a dual-wielding rogue with a sword and shield. Noel fired and managed to hit the enemy in the rear, but the bolt didn't pierce her armour. In the time it took for him to reload, the rogue had stabbed Bryce in the side.

Stony-faced, Noel fired again and managed to hit his target in the chest and drop her.

With a powerful swing, Ser Gilmore beheaded the last of the assailants and ran to his Teyrn's side.

Noel jogged out into the open. He could hear the army outside the barred door, and he knew the castle was already surrounded, with a small number already inside and on a murder rampage. He looked around at the handful of Highever knights shuffling about nervously, and at Ser Gilmore trying to help the Teyrn with his wounds.

Duncan wasn't there.

Aedan wasn't meant to be the hero of Ferelden, and instead of a grizzled commander to helping against Howe's attack, the Couslands had...a soothsaying serving-boy with a crossbow and a mabari mutt.

_Everyone's survival rate just dropped significantly. You should get out while you can._

Ignoring that pessimistic thought, Noel readied his weapon and sprinted past the knights, towards the Couslands' quarters. Ser Gilmore called after him but he paid no heed.

There was an archer around the corner, firing at a fleeing elven servant.

Without need for instruction, Buddy jumped the archer to the ground, his massive paws on the man's throat. There was an audible crunch as the man's trachea crushed under the full weight of the animal.

The dog stepped off and looked towards his master for praise, but Noel was staring at the man writhing on the ground, struggling for breath.

He vaguely recalled that there was a way to save the man using a pen.

Then he remembered that pens didn't exist.

In addition, it was an enemy choking to death.

So, he continued running towards his destination. He ducked into a hidden servants' passage, which would take him directly into an empty guest room close to the Couslands' quarters.

* * *

Oriana was a lovely woman. She dressed and walked like a true princess, but she spoke softly and kindly to everyone she met, and spent much of her free time organizing charity events with the chantry. When she first married Fergus, eight years prior, she would visit the castle chantry nearly every evening, and sit quietly and pray while Noel cleaned the floors with his mother.

He had a fondness for the gentle woman, so he was shaken when he found her dead in the middle of the hall, just outside the guest room.

She was sprawled out as though she had tried to run; there were two arrows in her back.

Why was she there in the hall, so far from her son?

_It was something you did. _

He frowned, his thoughts were starting to sound less like his own and more like...

There was another dead woman just a few feet away, sitting propped against the wall in a pool of blood originated from a stab wound in her stomach; an elf with very familiar ginger hair and copper skin.

"No..." Noel paled and stepped forward, suddenly shaking.

_Yes._

He shook his head. It didn't make sense. She had no reason to be in the castle.

The dog whimpered and nudged the woman's foot with his nose. Noel fell to his knees at her side, warm blood soaking his wool trousers. He dropped his bow to the floor and reached out for his Thedas mother, hands trembling.

_Weren't you lucky to find the secret servant's passage mysteriously open?_

From around the corner he could hear armour clanging and people running, but he didn't care. He grabbed his mother's hand and held it, staring wide-eyed at the blood that was slowly creeping along the mortar of the stone floor. Tears welled in his eyes and he kept staring forward, refusing to blink and let them fall.

He hadn't liked her when he first met her, because she smothered him with praise and attention, that he didn't know what to do with and couldn't escape. However, the vulnerability of his body forced him to stay with her, and after awhile she grew on him. As annoying as they were, he couldn't blame her for her motherly habits, and they eventually became endearing. He grew attached to her; and came to love her as he had loved his real mother.

And now she was dead; just like Oriana and probably Oren, and countless other unimportant characters.

"Oriana too! Oh, poor Fergus..."

He knew who had come running from around the corner, but he didn't look away. He was concentrating on not blinking. He had lost all his energy, and didn't feel like moving.

_Stay here...until the soldiers come._

"Leann," an armoured hand touched his shoulder, but he didn't look up.

"We have to go."

_No we don't._

A cold hand slapped him across the face and he looked up in shock, his tears finally falling.

Aedan had taken off his armoured glove to smack him out of his trance and was holding out his hand for Noel to take.

"Right," the boy blinked and stood up, refusing the nobleman's help. He grabbed his bow and turned away from the dead elf, "sorry 'bout that. Spaced right out, there."

He pulled back his feelings of loss as best as he could and slid into his impassive persona.

"My lord, my Lady," he nodded at Aedan and the Teyrna, taking small comfort in the formality. He grabbed a bolt from his waist-quiver and held it in his hand, just to be prepared.

"Arl Howe has the castle completely surrounded. He means to kill everyone." Noel said evenly, as though he were listing a fact from a book. In a way, he supposed, that was exactly what he was doing. "The Teyrn is still alive. He's waiting for you in the larder."

"Thank the Maker," Eleanor held her hand over her heart and breathed deeply. Aedan was looking at the boy strangely.

"But why would Rendon do this?" the Teyrna's voice cracked with emotion, "he's been our friend for years!"

Noel shrugged.

"He's going to tell people you were all traitors –conspiring with Orlais, or something, but he just wants more power. That's why there won't be any witnesses if things go his way; no one to spread the truth."

"That bastard is going to pay." Aedan clenched his fists, jaw squared. Gone was anything resembling the good-natured, if somewhat naive, child that Noel had watched grow up. There was blood smeared across his fine armour and splattered all over his face, none of it his own.

They began moving as a group towards the kitchen. With two dogs, a warrior, and two archers, any Howe soldiers that got in their way were quickly dealt with. As they passed, Aedan ordered Noel to strip a dead rogue and put on his leather armour. It was bloodied and ill fitting, but it was better than just his simple wool clothes. It also came with a set of wicked-looking long daggers, which he had no idea how to wield properly, but kept in case of emergency.

A servant, one of Noel's roommates, ran by screaming. Aedan tried to calm the elf down, but he just screamed and fled at the sound of more fighting. Noel would have laughed, had he had the energy.

They made a brief stop at the treasury, where Noel and the dogs stood guard while Aedan and Eleanor quickly grabbed anything they wanted to keep out of Howe's hands. He killed an enemy mabari with a single lucky shot, and immediately felt bad for the poor dog, then felt bad for _not _feeling bad for the human enemies he had seen die that night.

When they reached the entrance hall, Ser Gilmore was fighting off another large wave of armed intruders. Noel found himself wondering where they came from. Did the barricade falter for a moment, letting a small group in? Or had they entered in the original incursion, scattered into the castle to kill anyone on sight, then returned to try to open the doors for their friends? It didn't matter, he supposed, and he certainly wasn't going to waste time and energy asking about it.

Aedan rushed into the fray with a roar, shield bashing a mage to the ground and impaling her while she was down. The dogs followed suit, Buddy mimicking the elder mabari's battle strategy of biting quickly and jumping away to avoid swinging weapons.

Lady Eleanor, graceful even in her old age, could fire three arrows in the time it took for Noel to shoot once. The boy tried to make the best of his shots, scoping out enemies who were slightly out of the fray, to avoid missing. Still, one of his bolts caught an ally knight in the shoulder, leading to his decapitation by a Howe battleaxe.

Noel flinched at the gore, backing up in shame.

Suddenly, there was someone behind him, and a sharp pain under his shoulder blade. In an instance of good fortune, the rogue who had stabbed him from behind hadn't accounted for him to be swimming in the armour he was wearing, and misjudged the distance from the hard leather to his skin. Caught by the loose armour, the blade entered at an odd angle and made only a shallow hole in his back.

Noel jumped forward and spun around, dagger still trapped in his armour, to face his assailant. Realizing he wouldn't have time to reload his crossbow, he tossed it at the man and used the distraction to awkwardly draw his daggers, fingers shaking.

The rogue jumped backwards to avoid the clunky impromptu projectile and smirked, procuring another dagger. His grin faltered slightly when they were face to face, but he recovered quickly and rushed in to attack.

There was no pain, only blood; bright red dripping into his eye and down his face.

Faster than Noel could retaliate, the rogue had jumped in and out and cut deeply down the boy's brow, into his right eye, and down his cheek.

For a moment time seemed to slow down as the rogue moved in for another strike. Anger began to bubble in the boy's chest.

He had failed his only mission, lost his second mother, accidentally killed an ally, and now this Howe _grunt_ had scarred his face. That was the last straw; he couldn't hold back his emotions any longer.

With a cracked roar, he rushed forward with his daggers.

He never got a chance to take a swipe, however, as the rogue was propelled across the room by an invisible force and his leather armour combusted into powerful flames.

He stared with his one good eye at the screaming ball of fire, mouth slightly agape.

There was a faint sound of laughter, deep and uncanny, so low he wasn't sure it was there.

He didn't notice the battle was over until Aedan grabbed him roughly by the shoulder and turned him around. The pain from his wound finally hit him and he raised a shaking hand above his eye.

"Oh...oh God," he whispered, voice hoarse. All he could think about was his eye, but it was obvious Aedan was more preoccupied with something else.

He had magic.

Only Aedan had seen what he had done. No one else was even looking at him. The nobleman half-dragged him to where the Teyrna was speaking to Ser Gilmore, his grip tight and his eyes cold. He didn't say anything about the display of magic and the boy was grateful; he didn't know what to say either.

"...It was the least I could do to shut the gates, but they won't keep Howe's men out long. If you've another way out of the castle, use it quickly!"

"There's a servant's exit in the larder, come with us!" Eleanor pleaded.

The knight shook his head grimly. "If I do that, you won't make it out before the gates fall...Please, leave while you have the chance!"

Noel listened intently, feeling like he was re-watching a movie that he vaguely recalled

"When I last saw the Teyrn, he had been badly wounded. I urged him not to go, but he was determined to find you." He raised his arm towards the hall that would lead them out, "He went towards the servant's exit; he knew you would be going there."

"Bless you, Ser Gilmore," Eleanor held her bow hand over her heart, "Maker watch over you."

"Maker...watch over us all." He looked down, and then looked each of them in the eye. He spared Noel a look of pity before he ran back to help with the barricade.

He was a good man, Ser Gilmore, and this was the last he'd likely see the man alive. Noel looked to the ground; his presence hadn't changed anything for the better.

The discovery of his having magic wouldn't help anyone; he didn't even know how to control it. If anything, it would make his life in Thedas harder.

Assuming he lived to see the morning, that is.

* * *

"Come on!" Aedan pulled him roughly down the hallway, towards the larder.

Noel stared dead ahead with his one good eye, face once again blank, as he allowed himself to be pulled along like a ragdoll. He could hear Buddy growling by his side and absentmindedly ran his ringers across the dog's face, collecting blood on his fingertips. The Teyrna asked if he was alright, but her voice sounded far away.

_It would be so easy..._ the other voice returned, thoughts that weren't quite his own echoing in his brain.

_Just stop...Just...rest._

He stopped. Not because he was listening to the voice, but because he was shocked to realize what it was.

He shook his head, ignoring the pain it caused, and reset his emotionless mask, pressing forward. Aedan spared him a sideways glance, his eyes fiery but sad.

Finally, they reached the larder and ran in.

A weak voice called out from in front of the passageway, "There you are...I was..."

"Bryce!" Eleanor cried and she and her son ran over. Noel closed the door and stepped into the shadows, not wanting to interrupt their family moment.

"...wondering when you would get here." The Teyrn held his wounded side and tried to sit up to greet his loved ones, but failed.

"Maker's blood, what's happening? You're bleeding!" The Teyrna's voice cracked with emotion.

Noel resisted the urge to point out that Ser Gilmore had said the Teyrn was wounded. It was neither the time nor the place for his snark.

"Howe's men...ambushed us in the entrance. Almost did me in right there."

Aedan knelt down beside his father. "Is Howe in the castle?"

Bryce shook his head and his voice wavered with rage. "He can't...get away with this! The king...!" He couldn't finish, blood leaked from the corner of his mouth.

"Bryce!" Eleanor reached out to hold her husband's face. "We must get you out of here!"

The Teyrn looked at her sadly and shook his head, "I...I won't survive the standing, I think."

"Then we will stay and defend you." Aedan said with conviction. Noel took a step forward, sure that the nobles had forgotten he was there as well.

"Once Howe's men break through the gate they will find us, we must go!" The Teyrna looked around for someone to agree with her. Noel nodded wholeheartedly.

He tried to think of something to say that would convince the nobles to attempt escaping, but his mind was foggy; his heart filled with sorrow and desire to give up.

"Someone must reach Fergus," Bryce looked up at Aedan, and then his eyes fell on Noel in the corner, "Tell him what has happened."

"And take vengeance." Aedan whispered coldly.

"Yes...Vengeance."

For some reason, Noel thought of Anders.

"Bryce, no! The servant's passage is right here, we can flee together! Find you healing magic!"

"The castle is surrounded! I...cannot make it."

Maybe, Noel thought grimly, the Teyrn was being disheartened by a voice in his head too.

"Oh, come on!" Noel walked into the light. Aedan and Eleanor looked surprised, seemingly having forgotten about him.

"The passageway forks into a tunnel that leads to the alienage," he waved his arms in the air to help himself think through the fog in his mind. "We can bypass the soldiers completely and escape from there! There's even a healer in the alienage, if you aren't too picky. She's quite nice -healed my arm when I broke it a few years ago"

The Couslands stared at him, Eleanor's eyes filling with renewed hope.

"I thought the passage lead to hidden door in the east wall," Aedan admitted, looking thoughtful.

Noel frowned. His mother had carried him through the passage to the alienage a few times when he was younger, but they usually used the common one and walked to the alienage from the wall. No one else had mentioned its existence either, now that he thought about it. He knew it wasn't common knowledge among the other elves, but for not even the Couslands to know about it?

He shrugged, "It's an emergency exit; the only people in the alienage who know about it are the hahren and, apparently, my mother...well, she knew..." He tried looking everywhere but at the three nobles, not wanting to look them in the eye.

"I was told that..." Bryce grunted, "That passage collapsed years ago." He stared at the servant.

Noel settled on staring at the Teyrn's mouth, rather than his eyes. "Well, it's clear now; that's how I got in."

Aedan stood up, looking at his father, "Then that's the plan. We'll escape into the alienage, get you healed; then we'll find Fergus and come back with an army." His voice was even and mature.

Eleanor looked at Noel with a new light in her eyes, "We might have never known if it weren't for you."

His pride swelled. He wasn't useless after all.

Eleanor helped her husband to his feet and Noel felt giddy with joy. That is, until he heard the great bang that was the main gates collapsing.

"Umm..." he looked nervously at the larder door, which didn't even lock from the inside, "We should maybe move fast."

Bryce coughed up blood and sagged against his wife. "Leave me behind," he said with passion, through his bloodied teeth, "I will only...slow you down."

Seeing the man now, Noel hated to admit he was probably right. The wound in his side was bleeding with renewed vigour, and there must have been internal damage as well, if blood was coming from his mouth. He wouldn't make it through the tunnels, even if he were carried.

"No, Bryce!" Eleanor held him closer.

"If we can't leave together we'll stand and fight together, as a family." Aedan drew his sword for emphasis.

_He forgot that I'm here, again... _Noel huffed quietly in annoyance.

_You aren't very memorable._

"No. You have to go. Howe thinks he'll use the chaos to advance himself...make him wrong, Pup, see that justice is done."

"Bryce," the Teyrna's voice cracked with emotion, "Are you...sure?"

"Our son will not die of Howe's treachery. He will live, and he will make his mark on the world."

Eleanor held her husband's hand tightly and let out a slow breath before looking up at her son. "Darling, you two go, escape without me."

"Eleanor-"

"Hush, Bryce, I'll kill every bastard that comes through that door to buy them time, but I won't abandon you."

"I won't let you sacrifice yourself!" Aedan stepped forward.

"My place is with your father, at his side to death and beyond."

There was nothing he could do; everything was happening as it had in the game. Despite everything, he hadn't changed a thing. Noel shuffled awkwardly closer to the exit, listening intently to the sound of nearing soldiers.

"I'm so sorry it's come to this, my love." Bryce slid slowly back to the ground and Eleanor followed him, hugging him tight.

"We had a good life, we did all we could. It's up to our children now."

Aedan looked like he wanted to cry.

"Then...go, Pup, warn your brother. You know that we love you both. You'll do us proud."

The soldiers were getting closer.

"We have to go, like, now!" Noel placed a hand on Aedan's shoulder and motioned towards the exit. He looked sadly at the Teyrn and Teyrna. "I'm so sorry," he whispered.

"Goodbye, child," Bryce looked him in the eye.

He turned and ran, more tears burning behind his eyes as Eleanor called out a goodbye to her son. Aedan followed behind him and the dogs bounded after them.

* * *

**Extra Note: **Noel is actually a very vain person, despite all his flaws. Having a scar on his face has always been his second biggest fear (the first being catching a disease that is visible on the skin such as pox, leprosy, or herpes).


	4. Chapter 4

The sun creeped closer to the center of the sky, and the warm air was filled with the joyful songs of the colourful spring birds dancing through the air, weaving past each other and darting to and fro above the treeline. Three large caravans, pulled by oxen and guarded by several armed horsemen, rolled steadily down the imperial highway. The dozen or so travellers and merchants accompanying the caravans chatted amiably, their plethora of voices and accents blending together into a comfortable hum.

Noel sat at the edge of the last caravan, hugging his knees to his chest and staring blankly at the unnaturally symmetrical stones of the highway as they slowly moved beneath the caravan wheels.

His face was awkwardly bandaged. A topically applied healing potion had closed up most of the wound, leaving an ugly scab, but he hadn't applied it directly to the eye. Healing with only potions always left scars, and scars on his cornea would leave him half blind. He rationalized that at that point that there was little to no chance that his right eye could be salvaged, especially not without a spirit healer, but still, he wanted to keep his options open for as long as possible. He worried about the scar constantly, and was too afraid to look in a mirror.

It hurt, but the physical pain was easy to ignore. The aching anxiety was harder to dull. He replayed the night of the attack over and over in his mind, obsessing over what he could have done differently.

Nelaros quietly came and sat next to him, dangling his legs casually out of the caravan. He held out a piece of bread, folded in a cloth, but Noel made no move to take it so he placed it down between them.

"The merchant decided he doesn't want to stop in Amaranthine," the groom said softly, staring out at the road wistfully. "There are rumours of bandits in the area, so we're headed straight for Denerim from here. We'll be there the day after tomorrow at this rate."

They sat in silence for nearly a long while before Nelaros spoke again.

"What happened after you escaped?"

Noel finally turned to look at him, but said nothing. He grabbed the bread and nibbled on it slowly.

* * *

The party had begun to die down by the time Aedan and Noel reached the alienage. There were still a few drunks wandering about, but the musicians had gone home and the streets were mostly empty.

No one seemed to have noticed the attack on the castle just a little ways up the hill, or at least, no one seemed to have realized that the commotion was something serious.

Aedan immediately shouldered past him and marched through the slum with purpose. Noel followed after him awkwardly, not knowing what to do or say. He occupied himself by thinking about what might happen next, and how he might be able to help take revenge on Arl Howe. He began devising a plan which began with him becoming a servant at the Arl of Denerim's estate…

Not once did the young nobleman stop and look back, until they were in the woods surrounding Highever.

Noel took the opportunity to look him in the eye, "We'll need supplies if we plan on going to Ostagar."

Immediately, Aedan turned back around and began walking slowly.

"_We_ are not going anywhere." He said coldly, resting his shield on his back. "_I _am going to go to Ostagar and speak to Fergus and the king. _You_ will be going to the tower."

Noel froze. "What?"

Aedan turned to look at him, his stance hostile. "Did you think I didn't see?" he hissed, getting closer. "I said nothing because I didn't want to waste time! How many years have you been hiding this? Have you any idea how dangerous-" he paused briefly "magic is?"

'_You are,' is what he wanted to say._

"I _literally_ just found out about this!" Noel whispered angrily. Why he was whispering, he had no idea

Aedan threw his hands in the air, "All the more reason to go to the circle! You'll be among your own kind; it'll be safer for you there."

Noel laughed curtly, refusing to show how hurt he was. He had almost come to see the young lord as a friend.

But then, he understood where Aedan was coming from. Already there seemed to be a demon whispering sweet nothings in his ear.

"In fact," Aedan continued, "Make that a direct order!" he turned around and began walking again, his voice softening slightly, "You will go into town, march up to the chantry and politely turn yourself in to the Templars. Is that clear?"

Noel blinked and stared at the warrior sadly. "…Yes, ser."

And they went their separate ways.

Of course, Noel had no intention of going to the chantry. Blood mages would soon be overthrowing the circle tower, and he wanted to be as far away from that as possible.

He went back to the alienage, walking slowly. Normally, if he were walking in the lower levels of Highever so late at night, he would stick to the shadows to avoid rapists and other creepers, but he didn't have the energy for such precaution, and just walked with his daggers unsheathed. The few people he passed were quick to get out of his way after catching a glimpse of his bloodied face and the red-stained beast walking at his heels.

When he reached his family's home, he stood motionless in front of the door for a good while before finally entering.

Kels was waiting by the door, sitting in a wooden stool pulled from the kitchen.

"Have you any idea how late-" the elf faltered upon looking at him. "Maker! What happened?" he rushed forward, reaching towards his step-son's injured face.

Noel flinched away and started pulling off his bloody armour without a word, desperate to postpone talking about what had happened.

"Where's the baby?" he looked around for his sister.

Kels had run for a cloth and some water. "With her aunt," he answered as he wet the cloth and approached once more.

Noel allowed him to wash the blood from his face, staring straight ahead emotionlessly.

"_What,_" the elf growled, "happened?" He dabbed away the blood to get a better look at the gash, causing a bit more pain in his anger than he intended.

Noel closed his good eye, as it had begun to feel strained.

"The castle was attacked;" he spoke evenly, "Arl Howe betrayed the Teyrn and murdered nearly everyone there." He flinched; the elf had pressed too hard.

Kels stepped back, clutching the bloodied rag limply in his hand.

"Where is your mother?"

Noel opened his eye and stared at the elf's mouth, working hard to maintain his impassive face.

"She was there." He answered simply, swallowing the lump in his throat.

The elf froze and stared at his face.

"She's dead?" he whispered

Noel nodded. Kels stepped back and sat down slowly, clutching the bloody rag in his hands, his mouth hanging open in disbelief.

Not wanting to look at him, Noel strode past and into his small room. He pulled off his sweaty, bloody clothes, remembering with distaste that he had only changed into them a few short hours prior, when his mother was alive and nagging him.

He grabbed his personal water jug from his bedside table, reached into his drawer and withdrew a worn wooden bowl and a leather pouch filled with crushed soaproots. He mixed a handful of the dried roots with water, using his fingers mechanically, until he had worked up thick, off-white foam, which he then rubbed over his skin.

He washed himself quickly, rubbing furiously. He found small cuts and bruises all over which he couldn't recall receiving, and paid special attention to the cut under his shoulder blade and his face.

The soaproot lather was a mild antiseptic, though he normally washed with it every few days anyway as it was cheaper and easier to acquire than fat-based, scented soaps. It was the soap most common in the alienage; a remnant, perhaps, of Dalish culture. He was, however, the only person he knew of, aside from nobility, who insisted on washing his skin more than once a month.

He generally took care to wash where he wouldn't be seen; late at night in an empty room at the castle, usually, or in the woods, but he was desperate enough to feel clean that he washed right there in his bedroom, ignoring the soap and water that pooled at his feet and leaked through the aging floorboards.

He poured the rest of the water over himself and patted dry using the thin blanket from his bed. He then slowly stepped into a fresh pair of cheap woolen trousers and a dull green tunic, both a little tight on him as they were from the year before, but they were the only clean clothes he had left.

Kels was standing in the doorway. How long he was there, Noel couldn't bring himself to care. His family already suspected his strange obsession with cleanliness, and had never bothered to ask about it before.

"What is _wrong_ with you?" Kels shook his head a little as he spoke, his brow furrowed and eyes narrowed.

Noel stared him in the eye and noted how emotional he looked. Elves had the most expressive faces. He often managed to mimic their expressions whenever he found himself alone in front of a mirror, but in person he just couldn't do it properly.

"I'm…sorry?"

Apologies usually worked when people questioned his weirdness, in this world and the last. He'd look them in the eyes and softly say 'sorry,' and they would deflate and forgive his social awkwardness.

It didn't work this time. The elf only grew angry.

"Sorry?" he stormed into the room, surprisingly menacing despite being nary a few inches taller than the boy in front of him, "You don't look very sorry. You never look very _anything, _do you?" He didn't raise his voice, too wary of the thin walls.

'Oh.' Noel stepped back, remembering a very similar, very painful, conversation with his elder brother, not long before he came to Thedas.

"Look at your eyes!" Kels continued, "You tell me your mother is dead and you aren't even crying –you don't even look sad!"

"I..." Noel stopped himself, looking down at the floor. He'd lose control for sure if he admitted aloud how sad he was.

"Do you even understand that this is the real world?"

Noel snapped to attention at that. Kels had grabbed a book from the rickety shelf beside them and threw it across the room angrily, causing the boy to jump.

"I've tried to love you for your mother's sake! I've done everything a father is supposed to do –for you!" He was very close to raising his voice now.

Noel backed into the corner, stony faced. He glanced around for an escape route; no windows, and the door was behind the emotional elf.

"But, you! You walk around with your head in the clouds like nothing and no one matters!" He threw another book, "You look at people like we're nothing! Like we're characters in one of your damned books!"

He threw another book to the ground and Noel flinched, it was borrowed from the library.

"Have you ever even _loved_ anybody?"

"I…" he was starting to get angry too, "Of course I have!" His voice cracked.

Working up his courage, he pushed past the elf and quickly grabbed his satchel from his bedside. It already had everything he needed in case he needed to leave quickly, including all of his savings, his most recent journal, and writing equipment. He tossed in his bag of soaproot.

"Where do you think you're going?" Kels grabbed his shoulder before he could leave the room.

"Away, obviously. You're kicking me out." He rolled his shoulder out of the man's grip.

"You aren't going anywhere. Do you have any idea what people will say about me if I kick you out now of all times!?"

Noel gave a short, pained laugh, "Go ahead and say I didn't even come home. They'll assume I'm dead." His voice cracked again and he marched to the front door and grabbed the sheathed daggers and belt off of the armour that he had left crumpled there.

"You need to see the healer!" Kels called after him, but otherwise made no move to stop him from walking out the door. "You'll lose your eye!"

The boy slammed the door behind him stubbornly. Buddy, who had been sitting outside, jumped to attention and trotted after him as he stalked through the alienage, fuming. He didn't see anyone else along the way, minus two of his cousins, passed out under the vhenadhal tree, beside several bottles of wine.

He had nowhere to go, and no one to depend on. It was a shocking feeling.

He hadn't properly thought of what he would do after the attack. He thought he would be invited along to Ostagar, where he could try to further influence history. Even without the surprise of magic, he should have anticipated that no one would allow a child to go off to war, especially not one as terrible in a fight as he. His employers were dead, so he had no job. He had no close friends he could live with if Kels didn't want him, so he was homeless.

He just kept walking.

He should have gone to the healer; he even passed her home on his way out of the slums. But he was angry, and he was irrational. He didn't go, partly out of stubbornness, and partly because he didn't want her or anyone else in the alienage to see him, more to avoid the 'what happened?' conversation than to protect Kels' reputation as a sickeningly good man.

He let himself cry again when he was safely in the woods, walking along the trail. The tears burned his wound, but he didn't stop.

Through his tears, he began to see blurry figures in the trees; people with distorted faces and bloody clothes.

He began to run, but they were just a few steps behind him when he looked back. He recognized the fine clothes of the Couslands, and was sure he was going crazy. That or he was being tormented by demons.

When he looked back ahead, his mother was right in front of him. Her simple dress was dirty and bloody, and her face was a mockery of what it had been before; her eyes and mouth nothing but empty holes and a dark shadow. He could see her clearly, despite the darkness, as though she generated a light of her own.

Too frightened to scream, his mouth gaping but no sound escaping, he turned to run to the left, but Oren was there, walking closer. He had no visible wounds but his shadow of a mouth was moving as though he were screaming in pain.

There was no sound, just the wind blowing in the trees and a dog whining. Buddy was sitting just behind the phantom of Oren, tilting his head curiously.

Noel was surrounded. Behind him were the Teyrn and Teyrna, Oriana, Ser Gilmore, and even a Howe soldier, all just as warped as the two nearest him. He folded to his knees and screamed, hiding his face in the ground and covering his head with his arms so he wouldn't have to see.

He refused to look up, or even open his eye, out of fear of seeing a face close to his own or the many feet just inches from his form.

He stayed like that for, he didn't know how long, shivering in fear on the forest floor like a mouse. He rocked back and forth and whispered nonsensical things, apologies, excuses, prayers; none of it in coherent sentences.

Finally, something touched his hair.

He screamed and launched himself backwards, hitting his backside painfully on a tree root, and opened his eye.

It was Buddy nudging him with his nose. The apparitions were gone.

Still shaking, Noel looked around. The moon was full and low enough now to light up the pathway. There was nothing hiding in the trees. There were no ghosts. It was just him and a confused-looking dog.

He got up to his feet slowly and laughed a bit in relief. He continued on his way as though nothing had happened, but he jumped at every tiny sound from the trees.

By late morning, he had cut through the woods and reached the imperial highway and continued walking along it towards to east, in the opposite direction of the tower. Not long afterwards, the caravans came up behind him and Nelaros spotted him.

He decided on the spot that he would go to Denerim and try to save the blond elf's life.

Maybe Duncan would be there.

* * *

He had first met Nelaros within his first few weeks on Thedas. His mother had left him in the care of her childhood friend, Kels, and his new, pregnant wife, while she worked extra hours for a party of some sort at the castle.

He had still been more or less in denial of his situation at the time, and was sitting quietly in the shade of the vhenadhal while a gaggle of elven children played loudly. It was a daycare of sorts, to help accustom the expecting parents to children.

Kels was at ease with children, jogging around playing tag with the kids and pretending he was too slow to catch them. Kels' first wife, whose name Noel couldn't remember, was trying to calm the children, to no avail, and looked as though she were ready to pull out her hair. This was just a few months before she would die in childbirth, along with the babe.

"Hello," the eldest elf-child approached him calmly, holding some kind of honey treat on a stick.

There was a little girl watching the interaction, looking nervous. She hugged a raggedy-looking doll with a face carved out of wood, human features painted on in faded colours.

Noel looked the blonde boy in the eyes and blinked, uninterested. "Hi."

The elf sat down beside him and offered him the candy. He made no move to accept it. When he had been their age, he never spoke to younger children apart from family members, so his immediate assumption was that they wanted to bully him.

"I'm Nelaros," the child chirped happily, "And she-" he pointed to the girl watching them, "Is my sister, Nesiara. She thinks you look like her doll."

The girl shrieked and ran to hide amongst the other children. Noel raised an eyebrow at her retreating form; he was never good with kids.

"I'm Noel," he said finally, accepting the candy that the nine-year-old was still offering. He didn't lick it though, just in case it was poison.

"My Uncle Kels said your name was Leannen."

"Oh. Yeah, it is." He shrugged, "I like to play pretend."

After it became apparent that he wasn't going to attack the boy sitting beside him, the younger children wandered over to say hello; many of them were his cousins. They asked him questions about his round ears, and Nesiara spread the nickname 'Doll-face'. Then Nelaros scolded them all for being rude.

* * *

He was feeling better by the time the impressive stone walls of Denerim loomed into view. He had told Nelaros everything that had happened (minus the magic and ghosts bit), and he was starting to feel less like he wouldn't mind dying.

He also hadn't seen any more ghosts, though he had terrible nightmares about them. He also hadn't heard anymore voices in his head, so he was beginning to relax

Buddy had been avoiding him since they joined the caravan. The dog would trot alongside the horsemen or with the oxen at the front, and when they set up camp for the night, he would sleep far away. Noel figured the mabari hybrid felt uncomfortable with him since his breakdown in the woods, and he cursed having such a person-like dog.

What was the point of a pet, if it judged you as quickly as a person would?

Noel added that to his new collection of dejected feelings and bottled it up.

Meanwhile, he still had no idea what he could do to alter the city elf origin so that Nelaros would live. His current plan was to try and prevent Lord Vaughan from coming to the wedding at all. Plan B was to help storm the Arl's estate and kill anyone who got too close to his step-cousin. While very cool in theory, he hoped he could avoid that.

He purchased a cheap woolen cloak from the merchant in charge of the caravan. It was too big for him, but he figured he could grow into it. He also bought a new crossbow, as he forgot his last one in Castle Cousland, and a light chainmail shirt which, though still rather heavy, made him feel extremely manly.

Including the fare for the ride, it cost him a third of his savings, but he figured it would be worth it if it saved his life. The cloak would probably do nothing of the sort; however, it reminded him of the cloaks in Lord of the Rings. As a bonus, wearing the cloak perfectly hid his weapons and armour.

He had spent the last few years running simple errands and hunting for salable meat and furs outside of his work hours. He had also occasionally participated in thievery with his cousins, usually by making a distraction while someone else pick pocketed or broke into a chest. With all of that, he had managed to save up nearly three sovereigns in the past few years. It was enough to buy a house and live comfortably in an alienage, or in a poorer human section of a city, but it his recent purchases proved that it wouldn't take him very far anywhere else.

He and Nelaros hopped off the caravan at the city gates and walked in. The elf had no luggage, save for a few things in a large pack on his back. Noel found it rather brave, to pick up and go to an entirely new city, where he knew absolutely no one, with nothing but what he could carry on his back, and marry a person he had never spoken to before. The dowry should have gone to the groom, not his parents.

They got a little lost in the market, but eventually, with the help of a pretty guardswoman who eyed Nelaros suggestively, found their way to the alienage gates. The walls were considerably larger and stronger than the ones in Highever.

"I'm going to stay calm." Nelaros muttered to himself, gripping the strap of his pack so tightly his knuckles turned bone-white.

The Arl's estate could be seen in the distance, the alienage was flush against its grounds. Noel imagined that was why the walls were so impressive; so the elves couldn't be seen from the palace windows.

He began to formulate a fleshed-out plan A. He could go to the estate claiming to be a messenger from Highever, and personally tell Vaughan of the attack from the Couslands perspective. Even if some sort of word from Highever had already reached him, the message should still be shocking enough for him to put off his 'party'.

"Nel," he put his hand on the elf's shoulder, "Maybe it would be best if you didn't walk in there with a human? First impressions and all…"

The blonde gulped and nodded. "That might be for the best, actually…"

"I'll come by later to say hello, maybe I'll even catch the wedding."

"Will you be staying in Denerim, now?"

Noel shrugged. He had no idea what he was going to do. This alienage wouldn't be as friendly to him as the one in Highever. He could probably buy a house near the docks, but with his luck it would be destroyed in the darkspawn attack

"I haven't decided yet," he answered. "I'll see you later."

He whistled for Buddy, who was chasing after rats in the nearby alley and, with a final nod to the blonde, left to find his way to the front gates of the estate.

After getting directions from the same pretty guardswoman as before, he cut through a few alleys to reach the estate as quickly as possible.

A tall elf turned a corner quickly and bumped into him.

He wasn't the most handsome of elves; with his one missing ear and greasy black hair, but his eyes were a very deep blue. He stopped and stared at Noel curiously, as though the human were an abstract painting. Buddy growled once, but continued down the alley, seemingly sensing little danger from the man.

The boy raised an eyebrow (or, tried to out of habit, but found it to be painful) and continued on his way, a little creeped out. He looked back to find the elf still staring, and he hurried out of the alley.

* * *

There were two guards at the palace gates. One was rather large, munching unprofessionally on a small apple.

Taking a deep breath, Noel approached. They eyed him curiously.

"Excuse me, sers," he said politely, mimicking a tone of urgency, "I am to deliver an important message for Lord Kendells, from Highever."

"Wot 'appened to yer face?" the larger guard asked. The other guard gave him partner an 'I hate you so much' glance. They apparently didn't get along.

Noel gave him an equally annoyed look and avoided the urge to cover his marred face with his hand. Still, since neither guard seemed bothered when he mentioned Highever, he could assume the fall of the Teyrn wasn't common knowledge yet. Good.

"Bandits" he said evenly, "I had trouble getting here."

The thinner guard nodded, giving him a look of pity.

"What's the message, then? We'll be sure to deliver it."

Noel shook his head. "I'm sorry Ser, but I am under strict orders to pass this message in person. The Teyrn wants to be certain this information reaches the Arl's son, and no one else."

The smarter guard seemed to consider this for a moment, but the larger one spoke first.

"We don' wanna keep a messenger of th' _Teyrn _waitin,' do we?" he looked at his partner nervously.

His partner looked Noel up and down. The boy tilted his head slightly and looked up owlishly at the guard through his lashes, setting his lips in a thin line. It was his well-practiced 'I'm an innocent child' look; he only hoped it would work with only one eye.

It worked. The guard nodded.

"Ask the guard at the front doors to escort you to Lord Vaughan."

"Thank you, Sers," Noel bowed respectfully and walked in.

"I'm not taking any messages today."

"My Lord, this is extremely important news from the Teyrn!"

Noel waited alone outside Vaughan's quarters as the young lord's guard attempted to persuade him to receive a messenger. He had leave Buddy waiting outside the estate, at the insistence of his escort.

Anger and dislike was bubbling inside him at the sound of Vaughan voice and the knowledge of what he would do, but he pushed it down, fearful of another display of magic. He kept his face impassive, despite his rapidly beating heart.

"Well, I have business to attend to." Vaughan's voice was vicious. "The bloody messenger can wait until tomorrow!"

Noel had to jump back from his eavesdropping position when Vaughan violently pushed through the door, followed by his lackeys. He was rubbing at the back of his head and looking at the blood on his fingers angrily.

Noel paled. Vaughan had already paid his first visit to the alienage, been bottled by Shianni, and now he had woken up and was heading back to the wedding.

"My Lord!" he rushed after the three noblemen and jumped to block Vaughan's path. "This is extremely important! The Teyrn—"

He was on the ground faster than he could register, fresh blood soaking the bandage on his face. The guard behind them flinched, but said nothing. Vaughan had punched him in his wounded eye, and then continued on his way while he was in shock on the floor.

The guard helped him up when the noblemen turned out of view. "Maybe you should come back tomorrow."

Noel bristled. _Vaughan won't be here tomorrow._

* * *

I feel like writing a detailed description of Noel into the narrative would be boring. For anyone that's curious, Leannen actually looks just like Noel did at that age with a few minute differences. He has wavy dark-brown hair, green eyes and a light copper skin-tone. He has tiny moles all over his body (he would call them ' beauty marks') including three on his face; one above his mouth in the spot where some people draw in fake ones, one on his right cheekbone, and one in the corner under his left eye.

Random detail, I know, but I think about the little things when I create a character.


	5. Chapter 5

And here's chapter five, in which Noel starts a fight he can't finish alone, and meets another origin face-to-face.

* * *

The palace gardens were impeccably neat and beautifully green. They were also laughably unguarded.

Noel, with his dog in tow, managed to follow the wall directly to the servant's gate, which led into the alienage. The gate was left open; there was only one guard stationed there, and he was facing the alienage, likely waiting for his master to return.

He hid himself among the shrubbery and readied his crossbow. His new plan was to wait until Vaughan came through the gate with the girls, and kill him then and there. The guard and the two lackeys would likely be in shock for a moment, and the elves would take the chance to escape into the alienage. As for Noel, if he managed to kill Vaughan with one shot, he could crawl into the bushes, sneak back to the front of the palace and hopefully escape from there.

It wasn't a foolproof plan, and it left him at great risk but he couldn't think of any other way to kill Vaughan before he raped Shianni.

For a moment, he thought he saw someone in the bushes near him and he almost panicked, but after staring for a while, he concluded that it was the wind blowing the leaves.

It wasn't long before the three noblemen returned. Vaughan was at the lead, with his lackeys following after. One had an unconscious redhead slung over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes –Tabris, most likely. The other was holding the arms of a struggling Shianni and roughly marching her forward. The other three women were being shepherded in front of them and behind Vaughan, holding on to each other and trembling.

Noel took aim and…suddenly lost all confidence.

He had no depth perception. He hadn't fired a single bolt since his injury; there was no way he could down anyone without ever acclimatizing to firing with one eye. He began to panic as the group moved closer to the palace.

No, he began to rationalize, he could do it. He raised his bow and took aim once more. He had always been left-eye-dominant; his aim probably wouldn't be too badly affected, and the bolt would go far regardless of his perception.

"Buddy," he whispered just loud enough for the dog to hear "See those women? Protect them"

The dog growled lowly and stood ready.

He took a deep breath and fired, then reloaded as quickly as possible.

The bolt caught Vaughan and sent him flying to the ground. One of the women screamed loudly and the noble who had been holding Shianni let go in surprise and ran to his friend's side. Buddy rushed at the group with a loud roar, causing another of the women to scream.

Shianni took advantage of the chaos to kick the nobleman holding Kallian in the groin. He immediately folded to the ground and dropped the woman. Shianni and the mousy elf, Soris' bride, he remembered, picked Tabris up between them and the five women tried to make a run for the alienage gates.

That's when the plan began to fail.

Only two of them made it; the dark-skinned one and the one in chantry robes. They dove under the gate just before it slammed shit and they stared back in horror at their trapped friends. Meanwhile, Vaughan's lackeys were at his side, screaming for the guards.

The guard who had shut the gate advanced on the three women, sword drawn, but Buddy lunged at him and brought him to the ground, biting at his face and neck until he stopped screaming.

More guards were coming; they pooled into the gardens from every angle.

There were too many. He was going to die.

He sprinted towards the women and fired at a guard at close range, killing him instantly.

Tabris was beginning to wake up when he reached them; she was looking around, confused, and Shianni was trying to quietly explain the situation. He reloaded and looked around for a target.

They were surrounded; over a dozen guards, including the two he recognized from the front gates, were closing them in against the closed alienage gate. Shianni tried to open the gate by pulling the lever, but it didn't work; the guard had cut the rope to trap them in.

He moved to stand between the guards and the women.

Kallian, finally lucid enough to comprehend the situation, grabbed the dead guard's longsword and stood at Noel's right. He hadn't even seen her at first, her being directly at his blind spot, but turning to see her there made him feel a little better.

She looked disheveled, but beautiful, in her white wedding dress. She stared forward, eyes darting all around; her pale face set in determination. She stood turned to the side, holding out the sword evenly, and swayed gracefully on her toes; the stance of a trained rogue.

Noel shifted slightly and handed her one of his daggers. She accepted it wordlessly, sparing him a curious glance.

He glared ahead, trying to summon forth some kind of magic, though he had no idea what he was doing.

Then he saw Vaughan, still alive and pushing his way to through the guards to the front, screaming unintelligible obscenities, with the bolt embedded deeply in his shoulder.

_You had one job… _he found himself thinking.

He lowered his crossbow and raised his right hand, trying to focus on his dislike of the man in front of him and imagining him on fire. Vaughan was yelling something, but Noel wasn't listening to his words, too focused on his disgustingly evil voice.

It was a strange sensation; one that he failed to notice the first time he used magic. On earth, his mother had pierced his ears when he was a baby. Growing up, he never wore earrings, but every once in a while he would push a sterilized sewing needle through the piercings, to keep them clean.

Oddly enough, using magic felt just like that; painlessly pushing metal through a hole in his skin.

Fire erupted from his hand, reaching as far as Vaughan and his guards, and causing Kallian to jump away from his side in surprise.

The guards took that as their cue to attack.

Three arrows bounced off his chainmail and hung, trapped by his cloak. Another embedded above his left knee and he cried out in shock, stopping his flame.

The close-range enemies didn't even get a chance to draw blood. A massive blizzard enclosed the area. It wasn't coming from him

Noel covered his face, but the cold winds passed by him and the women harmlessly. The guards, unfortunately, were tossed around and some were frozen solid. Squinting through the ice and snow, Noel caught sight of a mage standing out of the shrubbery.

He was an elf; dressed in light trousers and a long grey shirt, with a vest made of hard leather that was covered with belts and pockets.

It was the strange one-eared elf that he had bumped into earlier.

Kallian, having recovered from the shock of seeing magic and realized that the spell was doing her no harm, leaped into the chaos and struck at the distracted and frozen guards. She danced between foes; delivering swift backstabs wherever she could and shattering a man who was frozen solid. Buddy jumped in after her, fighting at her side.

Shaking off his own shock, Noel quickly reloaded and shattered another frozen figure with a well-placed bolt.

The blizzard faded but the powerful mage continued firing destructive spells into the fray.

It was over quickly after that. Noel found himself laughing at the destruction, not because the death was funny, but because he was so relieved to be alive that he didn't know what else to do.

Like at the end of a boss battle, the alienage gate opened up behind them. Several elves, including Nelaros and Soris, were struggling to hold it half-open by pulling on the severed rope.

Shianni and Valora immediately made a run for it and ducked under the gate. Kallian looked between Noel and the elf mage and nodded before escaping as well, Buddy following her.

The dark-haired elf grabbed Noel by the shoulder before he could go too.

"We can't leave a trail back into the alienage." His voice was deep and eerily calm. "Come this way."

* * *

The front gates were also closed, but the elf was not deterred. In fact, he looked like he was glad for it.

He procured a rod from his pack and aimed it at the wooden gates. An impressive blue fire tore through the wood, eating away at it faster than acid. He aimed the rod around randomly, leaving scorch marks all over the ground, before putting it away.

He raised his fist and it glowed a bright green before a layer of rock appeared around it.

Noel just stared; open jawed, as the mage punched through the weakened section of the gate.

_Someone just won the prize for coolest background character ever._

He hobbled after the mysterious elf as quickly as he could, given the arrow in his leg. Some kind of horn was sounding and the unforgettable sound of running soldiers could be heard, coming closer.

They fled into the alleyways and made several turns before the elf stopped at a dead-end. He knocked three times on a wooden wall and a worn wooden door, that Noel hadn't even seen, swung open and the elf dragged him inside by the arm.

Once inside, the elf pulled out a leather flask and turned to look him in the eye.

"Don't scream."

_Wha…?_

He came forward in two large steps and pulled the arrow out of Noel's leg with one swift motion, taking a chunk of skin with it.

Noel gasped in surprise and pain, then clenched his jaw to keep from yelling as the mage uncorked the flask and poured healing potion over the bloody hole in his pant leg. He could feel his skin stitching itself back together; it itched.

His mind swarmed with things he could say, ranging from obscenities to thanks', but the elf had turned around and swept across the bare room before he could get anything out. Noel looked around curiously. They were in a warehouse-type building, with nothing but a few dusty crates and boxes scattered haphazardly about. There were holes of all different sizes everywhere in the stone walls, looking as though there had been several intense fights in the closed quarters. There was nobody else in the room; he wondered why the elf had knocked before entering.

The elf was moving with purpose; he pulled a metal ball, roughly the size of a tennis ball, from his pocket and placed it in one of the holes in the wall.

Tilting his head curiously, Noel stepped forward just as a large square stone on the floor slid out of place and revealed a secret staircase going down. His jaw dropped.

_Are you Batman? Did I just meet Thedas Batman?_

Without sparing him a glance, the elf descended out of view. "I'm closing this in ten seconds." He called back.

Deciding he would just have to trust Thedas Batman, Noel followed, hoping he wasn't being led into some kind of murder den.

The stone closed up behind him, leaving them in darkness for a moment.

"Try not to trip and die" the elf deadpanned as he summoned a small ball of fire in his palm, lighting the way as they descended down the stairs and into a damp tunnel.

Noel looked all around curiously at the stone walls, noting that the air in the tunnel smelled of ocean water. He ran his fingers along the stone walls and bits of mortar crumbled under his fingertips. They passed multiple doorways and forks in the path, but continued on in a straight line. He desperately wanted to introduce himself and learn the stranger's name, but he felt like he had somehow missed the introductory window, and the man's silence proved, if anything, that he didn't care.

The rush of the battle eventually wore off and Noel began to regret his decision to follow a stranger into an unknown tunnel. He disliked having to depend on someone he had only just met, but he had no idea how to navigate the area or how to create light. As a matter of fact, he didn't like depending on anyone, really; if he were with someone he knew well, he would have tried to take the lead from the beginning.

Finally, the elf stopped at the foot of a rickety-looking ladder. Noel stopped himself an inch away from bumping into the stranger's back and took a large step backwards to re-establish his personal bubble.

The taller mage turned and stepped to the side, motioning towards the ladder with his flaming hand. "You go first."

Noel looked up at the ladder, unable to see how high it went, and then looked at the elf. Deciding 'it's now or never,' he held out his hand awkwardly.

"I'm Noel," he said accidentally, in his enthusiasm, then quickly added "Leannen! Um… Leannen Noel!"

The elf blinked and looked at Noel's outstretched hand as though he had no idea what it was; he then looked the boy in the eye and gave him the exact same look.

Noel grew nervous under his stare.

"I just…" he looked around nervously, "You kind' a saved my hide, is all. I have to thank you…I mean, unless I'm speaking too soon and you're actually leading me to your rape-cave or something. In which case, let me tell you, I will become an abomination so fast it won't even be sexy."

The mage blinked twice, looking surprised, then closed his eyes tight and laughed wordlessly.

"Okay," he chuckled and reached into his pocket, "you can have this back."

He tossed something through the air and Noel caught it quickly; it was his money purse.

"Wha…?" he swung back his cloak and turned around to look into his satchel, where the purse should have been. "When?"

He thought of when they first bumped into each other, in the alleyway before the estate.

"But it was in my bag…under my cloak! How could I have not noticed?" he whispered loudly, more to himself than to the thief.

The elf smirked and rested his left hand on his belt arrogantly, twirling the fingers of his right hand underneath the flame he held.

"Oh," Noel nodded, "You're good." This guy could have taught his cousins a thing or two about pickpocketing.

He was too impressed to act indignant. Just that the elf had returned the purse without prompt was a sign of good will.

He began climbing the ladder.

"If you don't mind my asking," He asked as he cautiously ascended, "Why were you at the estate? Were you following me?"

The elf began climbing as well, the light following him. Noel wanted to turn and see just how the mage was keeping the fire lit while climbing, but he was afraid to lose his balance.

"Curiosity;" he answered, "I wanted to see what you were up to; an apostate outside the collective."

The mages' collective? So he was an apostate; lending a hand to a brother in need? It wasn't impossible, he reasoned, it just seemed improbable that this blunt thief would go out of his way to help him.

"How could you tell?" His hand smacked the hard ceiling loudly. He had seen the end of the ladder coming, but the ceiling hadn't looked so close. He felt around for some kind of door.

"It's easy to sense, with the right training and experience. Just push up."

"Ah," the stone was surprisingly light, and pushed aside with just one hand. He climbed into a dark room and stood up quickly. "How did you get in, anyway?"

"I have my ways." The elf was quick to follow, despite climbing one-handed to keep the fire burning. "And you?" he dusted himself off, "Were you trying to assassinate Vaughan Urien, or were you just seeking death?"

"Ha…" Noel rubbed his hair self-consciously, "I was just trying to protect those girls. The redhead is my cousin's fiancée, you see…" He looked around at their surrounding; they appeared to be in some kind of old wine cellar.

"But you were there, waiting, long before he brought the women." The elf furrowed his brow

"Oh, well…I…"

"I don't really care. Come on." He pointed towards the stairs and turned to leave.

"Surana" he said suddenly, as he procured a key from his sleeve and opened the door at the top of the stairs.

"…Pardon?"

"My name; it's Alim Surana."

_What?_

"…Really?"


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:** Finally, I bring you chapter 6! Noel is a frightfully hard character to work with because without stress or outside influences, he's a very boring person. Social interactions are so difficult with him, too…

English isn't my first language, so please feel free to PM me about anything that sounds wrong. My beta is a close friend, so I'm paranoid that she lets me off on a lot of little mistakes.

* * *

He couldn't keep from grinning like an idiot, even as Surana led him through the collective's stone hideout. The whole place was mysterious, but the thrill of meeting his personal favourite origin overshadowed his natural caution somewhat. The walls were bare of decoration or identifying structures, however, so he made sure to keep his wits enough to memorize the way back to the wine cellar. Every corner was well lit, despite the walls' strange lack of windows; there were dozens of burning lanterns all over the ceiling.

The elf mage led him down several empty corridors and into an impressively large, if unorganized-looking library. There were a handful of robed people sitting around a table, talking in hushed voices, who looked up when they walked in

An old, grey-haired elf stood up with a smile. "Alim! How are you, child?" He walked over and held out his arms as though for a hug, but Surana folded his arms and gave a lidded stare, leaning away from the older man.

The other people in the room; three young men and an older woman, all human, looked around uncomfortably before focusing their attention on Noel. One of them, a gaunt twenty-something man with a ridiculous purple cap and an 80's porn-star mustache, raised a curious eyebrow at the boy, who smiled and nodded awkwardly.

Gracefully ignoring Alim's hostile stance, the old elf brought his hands together in a soft clap and turned towards Noel.

"And he brings a friend!" the elf laughed jovially, reminding Noel of a creepy, beardless Santa Clause. "Alim never brings friends! And a human, no less!"

He grasped Noel's hand and shook it with a wide grin and a string of hellos. Noel gave a friendly smile, but he couldn't help noticing the abundance of old and new scars on the old man's hands and wrists. His smile strained at the realization that the old elf was probably a bloodmage, but he managed to keep it looking authentic, if a little more nervous.

"A new apostate in town." Surana explained curtly, looking disgruntled and possible more uncomfortable than Noel.

"Hello, I'm Noel" He stared at his hand, which the creepy old elf was still shaking merrily.

"So young…so young! What in the world happened to your face? No! Doesn't matter!" he pulled the frowning boy's wrist forward and held it against his ear, listening to his pulse "There's this little experiment I'm working on…Are you a virgin?"

"…Excuse me?" He tugged his hand back casually and blinked, pretending the eccentricity and the personal question didn't faze him. The old mage seemed to see an unfavourable answer in his body language, and deflated slightly.

"Alright," Surana grabbed the old man's shoulder and pushed him away a tad more roughly than Noel thought necessary, "Crawl back in your hole. We just require a place to lay low." His eyes flicked to Noel for an instant, "And perhaps the talents of a healer."

The gaunt mage stood up, straightening his cap, and grinned ear to ear; he was a trench coat and a pair of wide-rimmed glasses away from looking like a stereotypical pervert. Noel suppressed a shudder.

* * *

"Stop flinching."

"Sorry."

Noel straightened in his uncomfortable chair, trying to stay perfectly still as the human mage held his jaw with one hand and prodded his injured eye with the other. He focused his sight on the man's ridiculous hat, rather than his face. While not terribly ugly, he had the eyes and smile of a serial killer.

"I can get rid of the scarring too, if you let me reopen the wound…" The mage smiled wide, looking a little too eager. His voice was raspy and deep.

"Umm…no," Noel breathed, fighting his instinct to run from the room, "Thank you…Maybe another time."

"Just heal it already, it's disgusting." Surana was leaning against a wall in the corner, leafing through a small book dispassionately and occasionally looking over at them from the corner of his eye.

"…Sorry," Noel muttered.

The human tsked and gave a painful two-fingered tap to the corner of Noel's right eye. "Don't apologize to that arse," his fingertips glowed blue and he pet along the wound, "he's hateful and unfriendly."

_As opposed to creepy and probably sadistic?_

Noel closed his eye with a noncommittal chuckle and grit his teeth, focusing on the moderately-painful stinging sensation of his injury healing.

* * *

He had hoped to go to the alienage and see Nelaros right away. He still had no idea if Duncan had been there to recruit Tabris, and was dying to find out, but Surana refused to let him leave the collective sanctuary.

"Do you want the alienage to be purged?" The elf said calmly, without looking up from his book. He sat alone at a table in the library. "Templars are combing the streets for us. As it is, they think us assassins; as long as we stay away, they will have no reason to suspect we've anything to do with the elves."

Noel sighed and sat down, rubbing at his aching forehead. Despite the healing, the vision in his right eye was extremely blurry and seemed to be a partial cause of his constant migraine. That mixed with the anxiety of being cooped up with so many strangers, especially ones who were bloodmages and bloodmage supporters.

He couldn't remember anything about the mages' collective from the game, or even from his notes. Rumours, however, had reached him while he grew up in Highever; quiet whispers of apostates and maleficarum living freely under the chantry's nose.

While he supported free mages, the thought of blood magic left a sour taste in his mouth.

Still, he glanced at Surana; they couldn't all be that bad. They were welcoming enough. They healed him and offered him his own bedroom for the duration of his stay; and Alim Surana was an origin…didn't that make him trustworthy enough? Then again, why was he in the collective? Shouldn't he be in the tower?

"Have you ever been to Kinloch Hold?" he asked suddenly, too curious to keep it back.

Alim glanced up over his book lazily, "No."

"So you've been an apostate your whole life? You were never caught by Templars?"

He blinked slowly, looking annoyed. "I was captured once, when I was a child. I escaped." He looked back at his book, clearly uninterested in saying anything more on the topic.

Noel nodded and walked off, not wanting to bother the unsociable elf any more than he already had. He walked slowly through the aisles, looking through books absentmindedly as he pondered about Surana.

In the game, whether the player chose to be an elf or a human, there was no difference in the magi origin. They had identical harrowings, were best friends with Jowan, and (he was pretty sure) slept in the exact same spot in the apprentice dormitory. By that logic, if the origin at the tower was Amell, then it made perfect sense that Surana had never been there at all.

He peeked at the quiet elf. Maybe that had been for the best; he had a feeling Alim would have made a very harsh Warden.

He looked back at the bookshelves and ran his fingers along the book spines gently; he might as well make use of his time reading about magic, and maybe trying to figure out how to control it. Feeling his headache growing worse, he closed his right eye and considered getting an eye patch.

He caught sight of the older woman he had seen earlier, browsing the shelves with purpose, and stared after her, trying to work up the courage to go ask her a few questions. She appeared considerably less insane than some of the other collective mages, with her impeccably neat robes, short grey hair, and motherly appearance. Her hands moved slowly but gracefully, browsing briefly through the pages of a small green book.

He imagined her patiently enlightening him on basics of magic; being a perfect teacher.

He rehearsed various greetings and possible conversation options in his head, but in the end his hands and knees shook so terribly in anxiety that he grabbed a book at random and sat down with it awkwardly.

He wasn't afraid of being rejected, or even of finding her to be totally different from the character he had begun creating in his mind, but of her asking questions. She would want to know where he was from, how he had injured himself, and what kind of magic he was interested in, and he hated talking about himself. Even when he had been in school, he hated catching the attention of teachers because he didn't want to talk to them about his strengths, weaknesses, or goals.

Still trembling from the thought of having a one-on-one conversation with the stranger, he propped open his book and began reading quickly.

* * *

He spent three days with the collective, during which time he tried to avoid the other mages as much as possible, when he wasn't sticking close to Alim.

The sanctuary, he learned, was built underground, hidden in the ocean cliff-side, just outside Denerim. The only ways in or out were through various un-mapped tunnels which led all through the city and beyond. It was impressive, to be sure, but Noel felt too stressed to marvel at its ingenuity. It weighed down on him, constantly being around people that he couldn't trust. He barely slept or ate. He isolated himself and read in the library, and stuck close to Alim when he could.

Not that he believed Surana cared enough to protect him, but because he noticed that the collective mages seemed wary of the elf, and kept their distance. It almost reminded Noel of the way people treated him when he was in high school…

If there was one thing he knew he had been good at, it was influencing people to leave him alone.

Regardless of culture, people were wary of insanity, so when he found himself without the social buffer that was Alim, his strategy was to act as unpredictable as quietly possible. He fell easily into his old habit of using an eccentric façade to distance himself from people, despite having had to tone it down or avoid it altogether during his time as a servant-child.

He sat, Indian-style, on the top a table in the corner of the library, concentrating on a book he had found on the basic theories of magic. There were a few books around him on similar topics, including one balancing on his head.

Alim had gone out again, to check up on the happenings in the city (and monitor Templar activity), and there were various strangers coming and going through the sanctuary, sharing news and borrowing books. The sheer number of apostates in Denerim alone was staggering; the chantry didn't have as tight a hold on mages as he thought.

Not for the first time, he pondered what he would do. He didn't feel particularly compelled to use his knowledge to further alter the Dragon Age storyline. He felt no desire to save any of the other origins; not that he had the means to do so anyway.

'Whatever I've changed thus far has been through fluke' he told himself. 'The warden will sort out the blight without my help, so there's no point in putting my life in danger…again.'

He decided he'd stay in Denerim. He could rent a room somewhere, find a job, and come to the collective to learn about magic. It wouldn't be a glamorous life, but he would be relatively safe, with a friend and some allies close by, and out of the way of darkspawn for most of the blight.

Someone approached his corner of the library and he abruptly stiffened and focused on the pages of the book he had been ignoring, while inconspicuously observing the stranger. She was close to his age, maybe eighteen or so, and somewhat plump. Not terribly beautiful, but girlishly pretty in her simple Fereldan dress. She walked into an aisle, but he could feel her watching him.

Placing his thumb and forefinger on his chin, he bit his lip and began whispering to himself in Russian to try and scare her off. It was nothing coherent; just bits and pieces of the lyrics of a children's song about a crocodile that he somehow remembered after all that time.

Unfortunately, it didn't work. She approached him cautiously, hugging a book to her chest as though it would protect her if he suddenly attacked.

"Hello?" she said quietly, "I haven't seen you here before."

He tapped his lower lip with his thumb and muttered with conviction, staring off into the distance, "Zelenaya billa!" and to his desired effect, the girl faltered slightly.

"Are..." She looked around and lowered her voice as though telling a secret, "Are you aware there is a book on your head?"

He had to bite his lip to keep from laughing. He leaned forward and grabbed the book as if fell.

"Oh, I was looking for this" he opened the book across his lap and placed the one he had previously been reading on his head, looking in the general direction of the girl, but avoiding her eyes. Her brow furrowed and she blinked rapidly, likely trying to make sense of him, but she didn't look like she was ready to leave yet.

He looked her in the eye and smiled. "I like chocolate."

"…What?"

He got up quickly and stood on the table, flinching involuntarily at the sound of his books clattering onto the tabletop. The girl gasped and took a few steps back, clutching her book tighter to her chest. He walked down the length of the table and hopped to the ground silently, then walked into an aisle of books. The girl didn't follow.

He quickly moved to the hiding place he had found the day before. The other corner of the library was missing a lamp, and was eerily dark. He climbed up the bookshelf and squeezed himself comfortably against the ceiling. He shuffled forward until he was partially in the light and grabbed a book at random. He had spent his entire second day there, reading, and no one had seen him. He only left in the first place to find more skill-appropriate reading material.

Realizing the book he had grabbed was written in Arcanum, he shoved it back. He looked over the side and reached for a book he had seen before and had meant to read. It was about spiritual possessions, and contained an interesting-looking chapter on what sounded like reincarnation. He had to stretch so far he was afraid he would fall off the shelf, but he managed to awkwardly grab the book he wanted and re-position himself in his niche. His head was pounding, but he was determined to read.

He stayed there, eyes glued to the pages for hours, until Alim came into the library, looking for him.

Noel watched from his perch with amusement as the dark-haired elf walked through the aisles, looking around slowly. He marked his page with a loose string from his tunic and debated climbing down before the elf caught him snuggling with the ceiling. Plenty of people had walked right under him before without noticing, but he wondered if the origin might be more observant.

As soon as Surana turned the corner, his eyes flew up to Noel's hiding spot. Whether he was a particularly observant person, or had simply stood at a convenient angle, Noel felt was up to debate.

"What are you doing?" He asked calmly, seemingly unaffected by seeing him in such a strange spot.

"Uh…" Noel shimmied further into the light, "Hiding from people." He rolled his lower body off of the edge and let himself hang for a moment before allowing himself to fall to his feet on the library floor, still clutching his book.

"Has anyone been bothering you?"

"Oh, no. I'm just cripplingly antisocial when I want to be."

The elf blinked, then huffed slightly with the tiniest ghost of a smile. "Grab your things. It should be safe to leave now."

* * *

Denerim's alienage was smaller than Highever's, but there seemed to be considerably more people there, and not a single human that he could see. It was a lively place, filled with the loud voices of people and animals packed in closely. Children were running and laughing, and people were out and about, but the atmosphere lacked genuine cheer.

Alim strode swiftly with his head held high; his brown linen cloak billowing softly behind him in such a way that Noel was sure it was it was done via magic. One of the elf's most notable qualities was that he refused to wear robes. He dressed more like a thief than a mage; tight leathers littered with pockets, and a hood which obscured his face when pulled up. Noel wholeheartedly agreed with the older apostate's aversion of glorified dresses and continued to don his cloak, trousers and light mail, despite offers of robes from the collective.

Noel followed with considerably less grace. He walked, gaze fixed on the ground, just a pace behind the elf, with his hand covering his recently healed eye, feeling dizzy and disorientated. He shivered from the cold.

The sun was high and bright, but it was strangely cold for a midsummer afternoon. It was the first time he had the privilege of seeing daylight in three days, and the brightness was painful.

He pulled his hood over his eyes; partly to shield them, but mostly because he could feel people staring at him. He hoped Alim knew where they were going, because he certainly had no clue.

He heard a familiar bark and instantly looked up with a broad smile. Buddy was wagging his tail happily, trotting up to them.

"Hey, boy!" Noel kneeled down and wrapped his arm around the dog's massive neck. He buried his nose in the animal's coarse fur, overjoyed to see someone familiar. Happy memories of caring for the pup replaced his previous bitterness towards him for being too human-like.

"Leannen!"

He looked back up, still smiling, and saw Nelaros jogging over. Seeing the blond was a shock. He was a boy meant to die, and he was alive and well; proof that Noel could make a difference in that world after all.

His smile faded, suddenly thinking of Final Destination. What if, he pondered morbidly, death soon came back around to claim the elf? He shivered again, his head suddenly pounding.

"Are you alright?" Nelaros grabbed him by the shoulders and looked him over, pausing at his face.

"M'fine," Noel said distractedly, still worried about the blond's future," 'Saw a healer and everything; laid low for a bit." His words were slurred and he blinked rapidly, suddenly disoriented and lightheaded. "What about you? No near-death experiences?"

"Um, no?" Nelaros smiled awkwardly, squeezing Noel's shoulder tightly and looking worriedly into his eyes.

Noel nodded, looking around and blinking. Everything was blurry, even from his good eye, but he thought he saw Alim off to the side, talking quietly to a woman with long red hair.

"Is 'at your wife?" he rubbed his eyes, trying to see clearer.

Nelaros looked over and nodded. "The wedding's being postponed for now, but yeah, that's her." He sounded proud. He held the back of his knuckle to Noel's forehead gingerly.

"So…no Duncan?"

"You're feverish!"

Oh…"That explains a lot."

He tried to smile brightly, to show that he was fine, but he couldn't quite get it to reach his eyes.

* * *

He must have passed out. The next thing he knew, he was in a bed somewhere with a few blurry people around him. He tried to get up, but the room was spinning. People were taking, but he couldn't tell who was who.

"It's been two days…"

"I went to the chantry, there's a healer there we could bring him to"

"That's a _really_ bad idea, Nel…"

He drifted back to sleep and dreamt of running. He ran through a forest, leaping over rocks and fallen branches. There was something unknown following; something faceless yet terrifying, quickly gaining speed. His limbs became hard to move, as though he were trying to run through deep water. He couldn't get away.

He woke up thrashing around, disoriented and afraid.

"Leann!" He heard Nelaros' voice nearby.

Strong, armoured hands pushed him down and he opened his eyes wide, looking frantically around the unfamiliar, high-ceilinged space. The hands on his shoulders belonged to a heavily armoured stranger. He stared at the sword on the man's breastplate.

A Templar.

'Well, shit.' He lay perfectly still, struggling to even out his breathing as the Templar's hands pulled away. 'Does he know?'

"It's alright, cousin. We're at the chantry; the healer is going to help you." He motioned towards a startled-looking older woman, just behind the Templar

He shivered; the room was impossibly cold. 'Don't...panic' he repeated in his mind.

"No, I'm fine!" He tried to get up and immediately fell back into the dirty cot he had been sleeping in, his legs weak and his head spinning.

"Obviously, you aren't!" The healer moved forward, laying her glowing hands on his chest. _Don't panic!_

He panicked. On cue, a small burst of electricity ran up the woman's arms. She jumped back with a gasp and the Templar stiffened, grabbing the hilt of his sword.

"An apostate!"

"Well…shit."

His eyelids grew heavy; the healer was casting a sleep spell on him.

He knew at this point, he was either going to the circle or dying. Either way, there went his plan on staying safe in Denerim. He caught a glimpse of Nelaros' shocked face.

'There's no plague!' he wanted to shout, to make sure his cousin wouldn't be sold into slavery, but his lips refused to move. 'Don't trust the healers...' He had no idea if he managed to speak aloud or not. He went under.

* * *

**Noel's Journal, 24 Bloomingtide, 9:30 Dragon**

Been at the collective for two days now. Growing antsy. Alim won't let me leave. I understand why, but I don't like it. That old elf was staring at me again. Sleeping with daggers under my pillow, just in case…

I've been thinking a lot lately about Kels; he asked if I've ever loved anything. There's a familiar question. For a moment, I was reminded of Sasha. I remember we were arguing about something trivial…I made an offhand comment about his recent break-up, he was in a bad mood…It ended with him yelling, "Look at your fucking eyes! Can you even feel love!?"

I'm pretty sure I can. Feel love that is. It confuses me, of course, but aren't all people baffled by strong emotions?

I know I love my family and friends. I would die for them. I would do anything for them. Just thinking about them now, imagining their faces…it's a warm, happy feeling, coupled with nostalgia and longing.

I used to sneak into my mother's bedroom while she was at work and put money in her bank or under her bed. It made me so happy, imagining her smile when she suddenly found an extra twenty by her slippers, or found a fifty in her bank when money was particularly tight.

I would listen to Sasha and Danya talk about cars for hours, not understanding a thing; but I'd think, 'I'm hanging out with my brothers!' and I'd sit there happily.

I even had a little notebook in which I wrote down anything that my girlfriend said that might help me to pick out her next gift.

I did all sorts of little things for them because, despite my need for personal space and general lack of desire for socialization, I wanted these few people to like me…I wanted them to want me around.

If it is true that I can't feel love, it must be the romantic portion. I imagine that kind is equal parts friendly love and lust; and I have trouble with lust. Weird, I know. I notice and appreciate beauty, of course, but unlike every other guy I've known, I've never looked at someone and thought 'Yeah, I would fuck her/him.' I just have no desire for it.

I'm pretty sure, if a celebrity showed up and was DTF, I would freeze up and flee, no matter how beautiful they were.

It's a miracle I have a girlfriend. Or…had one, I suppose.

Not long before whatever it was that brought me to Thedas, she asked me if I loved her.

I told her, "I would be sad if you were gone. If that isn't love, I don't know what is."

**(At the bottom of the page, there's a doodle of a cupid sitting on an anatomically correct heart.)**

* * *

Finally! I can move on! I thought I'd never get over that writer's block, honestly. I was stuck right where he reunites with Nel and I must have rewritten it dozens of times. I just couldn't figure out a way to work out their interaction, and it was so, so frustrating, being stuck so close to the end!

During my block, I wrote up a whole bunch of Noel's journal entries. I'm thinking of posting one at the end of each chapter. I doubt they'll ever reveal anything important to the plot, but they'll help reveal Noel's past and round out his character.


	7. Chapter 7

A persistent dripping sound from somewhere nearby woke him up. His ear was pressed to a cold stone floor and he could hear rodents' feet scurrying along and smell hay near his nose. Not the typical morning welcome, but his head was clearer than before. His heart was beating fast and his body was weak, but he felt considerably less like he was dying.

He opened his eyes slowly, briefly unaware of his predicament as he tried to blink away his blurry vision. His memory returned a moment later, when he realised his hands were tied tightly together. He sat up slowly and looked down at his dirty clothes, then around at the dank cell.

"You're awake." A tired-sounding templar sat outside the cell, just out of arm's reach from the bars, and obscured by shadows. The only visible light came from a few weak lanterns along the wall behind the man.

"Ah-" Noel coughed and cleared his voice, "And I'm still wearing pants. That's always a good sign." His tone sounded less joking than he had intended. Using his legs, he pushed his back up against the wall behind him and stared at the knight. He couldn't make out his face in the darkness.

The templar didn't laugh. An awkward silence fell, and Noel pulled his knees up to his chin to make himself look smaller and more childlike. Praying no one suspected his involvement in the attack on the Arl's estate, he stared ahead.

"Am I in trouble?" he asked softly, hoping to lead the man into believing he was innocent.

No answer.

He looked around slowly for any means of escape. With its heavy rust outlined by the meager torchlight, he lock on the cell door looked weak, and he imagined Alim would have easily been able to break it with his stone fist, but Noel had no such power or magical talent. He settled his eyes on the shadow-cast figure of the knight and pulled his knees in closer.

"I'm sorry," he said after another long moment of silence. The templar turned slightly, listening. "I didn't mean to hurt anyone…I was confused and..." he paused for effect, biting his lower lip a little harder than necessary, "…scared."

The templar leaned in a little closer, bringing his face into the light. He was middle-aged, with dark circles under his eyes and an inexpressive face. Noel placed a hand over his bad eye to better focus on the man, who watched the movement with a glint of curiosity.

He looked hardened and weary, but not particularly cruel. This, Noel figured, was a man he could possibly charm.

"Is the lady alright?" he asked quietly, his voice cracking conveniently, "The healer, I mean? I didn't hurt her did I?"

"She's fine. You aren't a very powerful apostate." The templar stared him down, seeming to be looking for something.

"Ah, well, I can't imagine I would be –I'm new at this."

"How new?" His voice was clipped and his tone clinical; Noel could almost imagine him in rectangular glasses, sitting behind a desk and jotting down notes in a small book.

"'Bout a week? Maybe closer to a week and a half, actually."

"And, how old are you?"

"Fourteen," he answered automatically.

"Late bloomer."

"Is that uncommon?" He paused, wondering if he should have lied and said he was younger.

"Not unheard of."

"…Are you going to kill me?"

The templar blinked and frowned, a look of shock briefly ruining his 'psychiatrist' appearance. "You will be escorted to the tower, where you will be kept safe and taught how to control yourself."

"Can I take that as a no?" Noel stared intently at the man's face, looking for a hint of ill will. Finding nothing, he could only assume that he wasn't under suspicion of any crimes other than being a mage.

"Assuming you cooperate."

"Goody."

Noel fell silent, staring absently at the hay-littered floor as he weighed his options and contemplated his future. Even if he weren't so sick, his chances of escaping the templars would be slim. He had no idea how to navigate the city of Denerim, or where to hide. He wasn't wearing his armour, and he didn't have any of his weapons or possessions.

The tower, he rationalised, wouldn't actually be such a terrible place to live, bloodmage rebellion aside. He wouldn't have to work or worry about where his next meal would come from, and he could learn magic and have access to the largest library in the country. In fact, if he could survive the rebellion, whether by hiding in a closet or being amongst Wynne's group of children, he could live an intellectually fulfilling life.

On the other hand, he would never have another moment of solitude. How long could he handle being constantly watched before he'd want to snap his own neck?

Despite his cool head, his heart pounded rapidly against his chest and he had to breathe faster to keep up with it. The templar leaned back into the shadows and made no attempt at further conversation, but his eyes were watching.

* * *

The healer showed up after some time. Noel was so lost in thought that he failed to hear her speaking or notice her entering his cell, and he jumped to the side when he suddenly saw her in his line of sight.

"How are you feeling?" She made no indication of being bothered by his sudden movement, and knelt to the floor in front of him. She was barely middle aged, but she moved slowly as though her joints were in great pain. The templar was standing by the cell door, which, he noticed, was left wide open.

Noel blinked, "Less feverish, I suppose," he said after a moment of thought. His body still felt ill, however.

He contemplated making a run for it; he could push the arthritic woman down, dive past the templar, and roll out of sword range, but… He looked around; the room was so dimly lit, he couldn't tell the direction of the exit. A half-assed escape attempt, if it failed, wouldn't be worth earning the disfavour of the woman who planned on healing him, or that of the man who could be his executioner.

The healer nodded to herself and reached out to touch his face with the back of her palm, "I gave you a potion for fever, but it'll come back if I can't treat the cause."

"You can't…magic away illness?"

Her lips quirked upwards, "It's a bit more complicated than that. I need to understand what's wrong before I can 'magic you better.'" She chuckled softly and placed her fingers on his neck, below his ears. He twitched at the unfamiliar touch.

"I've already ruled out influenza and pneumonia. Are there any symptoms, beyond fever?"

"Ah…" He thought for a moment, "Disorientation and dizziness, I suppose. I think I passed out once, but I was overtired and maybe a bit undernourished, so..."

"Are you nervous? Afraid?"

"Not…overly?"

"Your pulse is too quick."

"Oh."

'Cefaclor, Bactrim, and Amoxillin;' his old body's allergies, apparently still ingrained in his memory, popped up in his mind. He recalled his old family doctor complaining once that they left little wiggle room to cure pneumonia or any other…

"Infection?" He said suddenly, tilting his head in thought.

"Pardon?" The healer pulled her hands back slowly.

Noel brushed his fingers over his scarred eye, "Could it be an infection? Spread from a wound to the blood?"

Her eyes followed the path of his fingers and her eyebrows shot into her hairline. "Did you topically heal an infected wound?" Her pitch rose slightly. He recognized the tone; it generally meant he had done something unbelievably dumb.

"Ah…" he wilted under her stare, "maybe? I don't really remember. I…was kind of out of it."

That creepy collective healer must not have been very skilled if he missed the infection, not that Noel knew anything about magical healing. Though, he mused, it was possible that the man intentionally healed over an infection without properly tending to it, but to what gain he couldn't fathom. Maybe he wanted him to get sick? If so, there wasn't a solid motive that he could think of, unless…Perhaps, like a shady mechanic, the healer left something broken so that that he would go back? Regardless, Noel couldn't voice any of what he was thinking; it wouldn't do well to mention that he had been contact with the apostate underground.

The robed woman nodded to herself, "I can work with this." She stood quickly with a barely visible wince and turned to the templar.

"I'll need some time to prepare a remedy, but I refuse to work from this filthy cell!"

Noel looked around at the floor and bit his tongue to stop himself from saying that it wasn't quite as dirty as he imagined a cell would be. It was similar to a kennel in feel and smell, actually, and Fereldan's kept their kennels quite nice.

"For Andraste's sake, you can guard the child just as easily from a bed!"

The templar coughed, breaking his stoic air with an awkward shuffle of his feet. "We had to be sure he wasn't a danger."

"And _is_ this dying boy a danger?"

"Dying?" Noel titled his head in surprise and looked quickly between the healer and the templar. Neither looked down at him; too busy staring each other down. He noticed something of a spark between the two, and filed the information away as 'interesting.'

"Not that I can see at the moment."

"Dying?" He repeated a little louder.

"Oh, not for long, quit fretting." She waved her hand dismissively in his direction and he raised his brows in disbelief but kept quiet, too weak and tired to really care.

* * *

He woke up in a bed, confused. His hands were laid uncomfortably above his heart, bound by a pair of heavy shackles which emitted a dull, almost electrical hum, and seemed to be faintly glowing blue. He blinked several times and took in his surroundings.

He wasn't in a cell anymore; and if the high, decorative ceiling was any indication, he was somewhere else in the chantry. There was a helmeted templar standing by the wall to his left, and the templar from before was standing his right, just out of reach, with his arms folded and his face blank. The healer was nowhere to be seen.

"Did she…?" His voice cracked and he coughed to clear it, "Put me to _sleep_?" He sat up slowly.

The templar tilted his head slightly to look down at him, and he could hear the other one in the room turning to look as well. "She believed it would be easier to treat you if you were unconscious."

"She could have asked. It's a little…" he stopped, feeling no desire to complain to someone who probably didn't care.

Instead, he rattled his shackles curiously. "Do these suppress magic?"

The man blinked. "How did you know?"

Noel shrugged, "Educated guess." He examined the glowing metal closely. "Really interesting…but why not put them on me from the start?"

The man cocked his head slightly and his lips twitched, but he didn't answer.

"Ah…" Noel blinked, tapping the metal together lightly and noting a slight intensification of the humming sound, "Did you…want to see if I would try to attack you?" he nodded to himself "One man with his head unprotected…sitting down…in a dark room, seemingly alone. I didn't think anything of it, but in retrospect…Pretty damn smart." It was very likely that there had been other templars just out of sight the whole time.

"Pretty smart, yourself," the faceless templar to his left said, and he was surprised to hear a woman's voice. She sounded a little suspicious.

"I'm a librarian." He stated as though it explained everything, lifting the corners of his lips in a childish, toothless smile.

"A…librarian?" Her tone was curious. He imagined her eyes wide and blinking.

"Yeah, I read books. I stack them too, when the boss is watching."

It seemed she was staring, but he couldn't tell with that helm. She looked like a thimble with a body.

Noel looked around again. Whatever section of the chantry he was in was closed off and private; he couldn't hear chanting or praying, or anything but the hum of his shackles and the occasional creaking of the templars' armour as they shifted. He blinked up at the rafters, and then blinked again, realising he could see clearly out of his right eye. He raised his right hand to his eye quickly in surprise which, as he momentarily forgot his hands were bound together, resulted in him slapping himself in the face with his left hand. Thankfully, neither templar laughed or even snorted, though he saw the man raise an amused brow.

"I'm all healed?" he asked, rubbing his sore cheek.

The man nodded, "Thoroughly."

"Huh," Noel held out his fingers and compared the vision in each eye; finding them nearly identical. He smiled. "Thank you."

"You will be leaving for Kinloch Hold shortly."

"Oh…um…'Kay," Noel answered with a frown, momentarily surprised by the sudden change of subject.

He looked down at his shackles quietly. Giving up and going to the tower became his fallback; he might still find time and opportunity along the road to escape.

* * *

Residents of alienages looked out for their own. When it came to the manifestation of magic, the only children sent to the tower were those who were unlucky, or stupid, enough to display their gift in front of a human. Even the small, close-knit elven community in Highever housed an apostate or three, but while that was common knowledge, the mages' identities were heavily guarded. Magical ability was kept secret between direct family; and any elf outside that inner circle that happened to discover the secret usually felt culturally obliged to keep it to themselves.

Nelaros ran his fingers through his blond hair in frustration as he and Soris stalked back to the alienage, having been ordered by templars to leave the chantry without Noel. He cursed his rash actions. Kallian and the other women had stressed so strongly that he not take his step-cousin to the chantry, but after two days without a break in the fever, he grew desperate and enlisted Soris' help in secretly carrying the boy out of the alienage.

Had he known Noel had magic, he would have understood the need for discretion. The girls must have seen it during the fight, he reasoned. He should have been told from the beginning, as the boy's only family in Denerim, if not as Kallian's fiancé. He gripped his fists in silent anger and Soris sent him a worried look.

A lot of things about the half-elf suddenly made sense, now that he knew his secret. The boy was a chronic loner, but it wasn't due to any shyness, nor did he seem ashamed of being an unknown Shem's bastard. He was constantly reading and writing, but he would snap his book shut the moment before someone got close enough to read over his shoulder. He was intelligent and mature beyond his years, and, now that Nelaros thought about it, he never, ever, mentioned his feelings or his dreams.

A mystery he hadn't even noticed had been sitting in front of his nose, and now it was solved. He felt no awe in the discovery; only guilt in being near solely responsible for getting the fragile boy sent to the tower. If only there were some way he could fix everything and free him.

Just past the alienage gate, he caught sight of a familiar, homely elf talking quietly with Kallian. It was the young mage he had seen fighting Vaughan's guards, who had taken Noel into hiding; Kallian had told him his name, but he couldn't remember.

"Kalli!" Soris ran to his cousin's side, his voice edged with guilt and laced with an inkling of fear.

Nelaros pinched the bridge of his nose in disgrace as Soris rapidly explained what had happened at the chantry. His fiancée looked shocked and her pretty face flushed in anger, while the mage simply folded his arms and looked marginally displeased.

"I told you specifically not to bring him anywhere!" Kallian hissed, causing him to wince in shame.

"I know."

"I asked you to trust me!"

"…I know."

"And you!" She rounded on the mage, who looked up in shock and turned his head to see if she was perhaps talking to someone else. "This is just as much your fault!"

"How so?" He sounded legitimately confused and somewhat indignant.

Nelaros listened close, relieved to have someone else to share the blame.

"Negligence!" the redhead waved her arms in frustration. "You just left him with us, even though you would have been better equipped to take of him!"

"I am not a nurse."

"You didn't even come to check up on us! You went Maker knows where –not your apartment, I checked, and we had no way of contacting you when he got worse!"

"How is the half-breed my responsibility?"

Nelaros bristled, but he was in no place to say anything to the mage. Kallian, however, was.

"You made him your responsibility when you got involved and then dragged him off to live with your _associates _for three days." She had lowered her voice to barely above a whisper, but her tone was icy.

"Got involved?" he whispered now, glancing around, "Do you mean when I saved all your hides? Do pardon me. And I only took him to lead the trail elsewhere. Why do you care so much, anyway? He was brave to stand up for you, I'll admit, but you don't actually owe him anything."

"Oh? Alim, didn't you say you were there in the first place because you were stalking him?"

He opened his mouth to say something, but snapped it shut quickly. Nelaros furrowed his brow.

"G-guys!" Soris stepped nervously between his cousin and the mage, having been waiting for a pause in the argument to speak. "We _really_ should be talking about this someplace else…"

"Agreed." Kallian stood down. "My place. We need to plan."

"Plan?" Nelaros asked, though he had an inkling of what she was implying. He grinned broadly.

"Plan." She spun on her heels and began walking towards their home. Nelaros and Soris followed quickly.

Alim stood his ground for a moment, then sighed loudly before followed as well.

* * *

**Approx. January, 9:21 Dragon (day 87)**

It's getting easier to write now; I'm getting used to these clumsy fingers and improving my motor skills. Unfortunately, it's getting harder to find a time and place to write. It's too dark under the bed at night and there are always people around during the day. Right now it's early morning, just before sunrise, and I'm hiding out in the kennels. The dogs are looking at me funny. They're cute…in a manly way, of course.

Someone nearly caught me writing yesterday and, in panic, I threw my pages into the fireplace. I had a lot of information there…

I started praying recently. 'Never did that before. I lay in bed and listed every deity I knew of, and tried to, I don't know; beg for my life to return to normal. I guess I'm pretty desperate. I offered to bake ma's double-chocolate cookies for Buddha; no response as of yet.

Still, it's better than living in denial like I have been these past three months. I've been acting like a very strange four-year-old indeed; refusing to play or eat in favour of waiting patiently to wake up.

I think I'm moving through the stages of grief. Isn't anger somewhere near the beginning? I think I skipped it and went directly from denial to bargaining. Depression, I believe, is coming next. Woo.

The calendar here is a little hard to grasp, but I'm learning.

There are only thirty days in every month, even; so, 360 days in a year. I don't know if that means Thedas literally has a shorter year compared to earth, or if everything is just perpetually behind (or is it ahead?).

I know it was mid-fall when I arrived here, on this body's fourth birthday. Last I recall of earth, it was early summer, about four months away from my nineteenth birthday. Does time pass differently? Or am I missing memories? Am I even older than I think I am?

Now I'm confusing myself even more by writing out my thoughts.

Last time I was this age…I spent all my time drawing pictures and playing ball with my bedroom wall...

* * *

**A/N:** We're moving on to the parts that I've been really excited to write!

My beta was a little put off that the Nelaros segment made him seem self-centered. My reasoning: the game makes him out to be good and noble, but he's also very beautiful and from an esteemed family, which would lead to vanity and pride.


	8. Chapter 8

Alim's tiny apartment was barely large enough for him to live comfortably on a good day. With three elves packed around him in such small quarters, he was starting to feel claustrophobic. They had decided to use his home at the last minute, because he had no family who might overhear them talking. That massive hound had tried to follow them inside as well. Luckily, it obeyed when Kallian ordered it to go away.

He evened his breathing and stared up at the ceiling, tuning out Kallian's voice. He knew he wouldn't approve of any of her plans, because he didn't approve of the endeavor. He knew her well, being of the same age in the same alienage, and he knew she had always craved adventure, but spontaneously staging an assault against templars would seem excessive even if she had known the younger human well. As an elf and as a new bride, she was risking a lot, springing into danger for a stranger. He couldn't wrap his mind around her motivations; her face betrayed nothing but determination.

Her groom was easier to read. He fidgeted and shifted his weight from foot to foot, running his hands nervously along his blond hair. He worried for his kin, he felt guilty for going to the chantry, but there was something in his eyes which suggested he would have passively accepted the boy's fate if it weren't for Kallian's insistence on a rescue.

And Soris? The meek boy was sitting on Alim's bed (which Alim was somewhat uncomfortable with, though he gave no indication), his hands folded limply in his lap, looking around at the occupants of the room with wide eyes. Occasionally he voiced how crazy and dangerous everything sounded, shaking his head in disapproval, but he made no move to leave. A sense of obligation to have his cousin's back was likely the only thing keeping him in the room.

Alim, himself, was only going along with it because he felt that backing out at that point would appear dishonourable and likely compromise his relative good-standing with the Tabris family, who had enough connections to make his life in the alienage difficult. He was a wanted thief, apostate, and recently, murderer. He needed allies in the alienage. Moreover, if he compromised his honour, he might as well be a low-life shem thug.

He sighed softly. Kallian was still talking, fanning her hands in the air as she brainstormed aloud.

"If we're really going to do this, we will need a lot more information before we can make any moves." He spoke loudly enough to call attention away from the woman.

The three stared at him, as though they hadn't expected him to speak at all.

Kallian recovered quickly, "I have a friend in the chantry. I can get her to figure out where he's being kept, maybe get us a key. We can sneak him out before he's moved."

Alim brought a hand to his chin thoughtfully. "Too risky. There'll be templars inside, and if there's a fight there'll be guardsmen nearby who will probably join in."

"We should avoid fighting" Soris piped up. He nervously gripped at the side of the bed, his knuckles white, as well as is face.

"What if…" Nelaros ran his fingers through his hair and exhaled deeply, "We found out when Leann is being moved? And what road they'll take? If there aren't too many men escorting him…"

"We can ambush them on the road and lose them in the woods," Kallian finished with a grin. "And they would never expect us to come back to Denerim afterwards. Genius, really."

Alim sighed.

"You're making it sound _easy._"

* * *

The world around him seemed real enough. He could smell autumn leaves in the air, with the faintest promise of coming snow, and feel a cool eastern breeze through his hair and clothes, but there was a faint bumping sound in the back of his mind and a jostling sensation which reminded him that he was, indeed, asleep in a moving caravan. Also, as always when he dreamt, his vision felt blurry and strained, like his eyes weren't open enough to see properly. If he tried too hard to see better, he would wake himself up.

He had been dreaming like this since he came to Thedas; not every night, but often enough to be accustomed to it, and to recognize it as being in the fade. In retrospect, it should have been obvious that he was a mage, as every source stated that they were the only people capable of remembering their time in the fade. He had thought though, that because of his unconventional existence, he had been the exception to the rule.

He hummed old tunes as he walked through the trees along a narrow mountain trail, running his fingers along the bristles of pines as he passed. In the woods surrounding Highever, evergreen trees were mysteriously rare; but this was a forest constructed from his memories of home, and dark greens stood out in every direction among the reds and oranges.

In his dreams these mountains were frozen in perpetual autumn; brightly coloured leaves falling slowly in the breeze, spinning in perfect circles and audibly touching ground but never leaving the branches bare.

He read somewhere that it was good spirits who shaped the fade around a person while they dreamt. If that were true, he never saw evidence of it. He was always alone. No spirits made their presence known to him; no fade wisps or even demons had ever entered his section of the fade –unless maybe they were disguised as the squirrels and birds and other various critters which served mainly as background noise to help him stay emerged in the comforting illusion of a familiar place.

Nothing ever spoke to him. Often times before going to bed, he would hope to wake up in the fade, because his forest was soothing, and he could spend his night in peaceful meditation and awaken in the morning feeling invigorated.

So naturally, he was surprised, frightened, and somewhat insulted when he came into his favourite clearing and saw a person lying relaxed in the grass. He froze and stared, watching silently as the figure did nothing for a moment, before he cautiously took a step forward.

A person in his 'fade-scape,' as he called it, couldn't mean anything good. In fact, it was probably a demon looking to tempt him. He thought back on a book he had read at the collective, which stated that the quickest defence against a demon looking to deal was to force oneself awake. Harder methods involved banishing the being from one's dreams through sheer willpower, but there was no way to learn how to do it from a book.

He grew more wary as he approached, and when he stood a good meter away, he realized the person was familiar. It was a thick, burly young man, with light brown curls and a messy beard. He wore paint-stained, ripped sweatpants and an equally sullied black T-shirt which hung loosely and billowed slightly in the wind.

Filled with nostalgia, Noel kneeled down to get a better look at the man, cautiously keeping himself just out of grabbing distance. It had been years, but he knew this was exactly what his brother Sasha had looked like last he saw him, right down to the clothes.

Blue eyes opened lazily and blinked up at the sky. Noel stood up quickly and took a step back.

Sasha gazed at him for a moment before lazily turning away in disinterest.

"Hey!" Noel called with a frown, gathering his courage. "…Don't ignore me."

He nudged the being with his foot. "Hey, demon!" No reaction. "Hey, what's the point in being here if you aren't going to bother me?" His hands shook, though it was more from social anxiety than from deep fear of demons. He felt he was too clever, too different from the average mage for a demon to get the better of him. Still, he would be a fool to think he was in no danger.

It turned back and gave him a little smile that he had never seen on that face before, "Need I any reason be…anywhere?" It spoke slowly and deliberately, with obviously little desire to mimic his brother's accent or personality.

"I'd rather you weren't here," Noel answered evenly, avoiding the bright blue eyes of his brother. He had seen that face many times in normal dreams over the years, but seeing it so clearly now was unnerving.

"I imagine you'd rather a lot of things," It drawled, rolling over onto its stomach and tugging lazily at the grass, "but hiding myself is…so…tiring."

A sloth demon, he realized. They were relatively powerful, but luckily they were known for being the least persistent in deal-making and possession.

"Are you the one who's been talking to me?" Noel asked; his voice low and even, thinking back to the voice he kept hearing during the attack at Highever.

It continued to stare at the grass. An unusually cold breeze blew leaves all around them. One stuck to Noel's chest; it was a large maple leaf, bright yellow save for a small tar spot in the middle.

"…Talking?" It poked at a red, similarly black-spotted leaf, "I've no interest in…talking." It dropped Sasha's face to the ground, staring blankly at Noel's feet.

"Then leave me be." Noel clenched his fists. "Why use that face if you aren't looking for something from me?"

"This mountain…" Its voice was so low, he had to lean forward to hear, "There aren't many dreams like it…so quiet…so calm…And it only exists while you are here."

"And I'd wake up pretty fuckin' fast if I saw your true form," Noel concluded with a frown. He sat on the grass, confident he'd be able to wake up if things got dangerous.

"What's so special about my dream, and how long have you been watching me?"

"..Special?" It drew out the word and trailed off, as though it were about to fall asleep. Noel looked up at the clouds and waited patiently for it to continue. "It is…curious. Built from memories but…" It looked directly at him and he shivered. "…None that truly exist."

Noel stiffened, feeling it was time for him to leave. It would do no good for a demon to find anything about him 'curious.'

Still, he hated to leave a question unanswered after he'd asked it. "How long have you been watching me?" he repeated.

"Your concept of time means nothing to my kind…" It rolled over onto its back and looked up at the clouds.

"Give me some idea."

"…Fourteen dreams, now."

He frowned. With his average of one or two fade dreams per week, this meant about two months, maybe a little longer. "What have you been doing?" He asked, though really he was wondering why it was so compliant.

"Only what you've been doing, yourself…Resting…Watching the leaves fall."

He felt a sudden push on his shoulder; someone in the real world was trying to wake him up.

Without bothering to say goodbye, he forced his eyes open and came face to face with Ser Ahna, the lady templar who never removed her helmet.

"You were making noises in your sleep." She said curtly, a dangerous edge in her voice.

Noel blinked and hastily wiped a bit of drool off his chin. "Was I talking? I talk sometimes. My mom…" his voice cracked and he paused painfully for a moment before quickly composing himself "She would have _whole_ conversations with me while I slept, and then make fun of me later." He forced a big smile and waved his shackled hands around for emphasis

"You were just kind of…humming and grunting."

"Ah…" he furrowed his brow, "I was having a rather odd dream."

"Odd how? Were you talking to someone?"

"Well…" he rubbed his hair awkwardly with his bound hands, "I was on the roof of a brothel, right? And there were walking skeletons riding dolphins –don't ask how the dolphins moved out of water…I think they were floating…"

He really wished he could see the face she was making.

"And the king -well, it wasn't really the king, now that I think about it, but in the dream I just knew it was the king; he gave me a roll of cheese and told me to protect it with my life. So there I was, with the cheese, which could talk somehow and had a thick Orlesian accent…"

He trailed off awkwardly and gave her a sheepish look and grinned, "Sorry…I ramble on forever once I'm started."

"Do you?" Her tone was sarcastic. He could just faintly see the shadow of her lashes moving as she looked him up and down, probably in distain.

"Oh, yes! My boss absolutely hated it. He'd ask me one question and then I'd be off! And he'd get so annoyed! In fact he—"

"Stop."

He snapped his mouth shut and bowed his head submissively; glad that the templar had cut him off as he really had no idea where he was going with that lie. He leaned back against the caravan walls and stared blankly at the roof.

They were en route to the tower, riding in the back of a chantry supply caravan. Aside from Ser Ahna, there were a handful of templars accompanying the four ox-drawn caravans, which were filled with foodstuffs and other necessities for the residents of Kinloch Hold. He wondered why she was the only one sitting with him, if there were other templars about. Did they think him weak and docile enough to not bother with more guards? And if they had decided he wasn't worth the time of more than one templar, had she volunteered to be the one to sit with him? It didn't particularly matter. He liked to think up questions with little intention of actually asking them; he could store them away and maybe bring them up if ever he needed to change the subject or stall for time.

"Honestly," he nodded upwards at the hood of the caravan, "I thought I would be marched to the circle…or locked up in a tiny cage and hauled there…" he mumbled audibly, voicing the thoughts he had kept since the beginning of the journey. The caravan appeared difficult to escape.

The armoured woman sat still, giving no answer. He frowned, wanting to invoke a human reaction.

"I haven't even been brutalized or molested," his face heated up at the sheer stupidity of his words, but he continued anyway, too far gone to stop. "I mean, with all the stories I hear on the streets about templars…" _Oh God, Noel, stop talking _"Should I feel insulted? I mean, am I ugly?"

Her back stiffened visibly and her shoulders squared. He grinned a little at his small victory.

"You might get more tower volunteers if you got the word out, you know?" He nodded quickly, as if he knew exactly what he was saying before he said it.

"…Word?" She finally responded, the disapproval in her voice almost enough to make him flinch.

"Yeah, you know, let people know that you aren't all bloodthirsty, power-hungry predators."

Even through the small eye holes in her helmet, the woman's glower caused him to drop his lopsided grin and lower his head. She clinked her metal-gloved hand against the brow of her helmet in what seemed to be an adaptation of a habitual face-palm. He watched carefully through his lashes as she sighed, and he flinched away when she brought her hand back to her lap quickly, so sure she would back-hand him.

"A word of advice;" she drawled, a bare hint of aggression in her tone, "don't talk like that. In fact, try not to speak unless spoken to.

He pushed his lips into a whistling position and looked to the ground without making a sound, suddenly interested in the sound of ox hooves and turning wheels.

An unexpected jolt bounced Noel high off his seat. The templar toppled slightly as well, but stayed mostly in place as the caravan tilted to an angle. The oxen could be heard fussing along with the cursing driver.

"What happened?" He heard someone yell outside, one of the other helmeted templars, he could tell by the echo.

"Stay put." Ser Ahna pointed at him and moved to take a look out of the back of caravan. Noel's heart raced. Her back was to him and, aside from the cuffs, he was unbound.

"Broken wheel!" The driver yelled, "I only just replaced the damned thing! I don' know what happened!"

There was a howl nearby; it sounded like a wolf, but something was off about the echo and the way it trailed to a close, that made Noel think it was an imitation. Another howl joined in from the opposite direction. This one was real, and very, very familiar. A wide grin involuntarily stretched across the boy's face and his spirits soared. He watched the lady templar's back with renewed interest.

He wasn't a naturally violent person. The thought of hurting her, despite her technically being an enemy, made his stomach turn and his limbs feel weak. He took a shaky breath, trying to draw enough courage to kick her onto the road and make a run for it, despite having no solid plan. That familiar howl filled the air again and he grew self-conscious. He couldn't imagine anyone bothering to rescue him from the tower; or rather, he wouldn't allow himself to hope someone would. He hated to depend on anyone for anything; even his freedom, it seemed.

Suddenly there was a yell, and a clash of swords.

"Bandits!" The driver yelled.

He could hear arrows being fired, some embedding in his caravan.

"Don't you move!" Ser Ahna pointed at him before jumping out to help her brothers fight.

Noel moved immediately.

**End Chapter 8**

* * *

**Wintermarch 17, 9:21 Dragon (Day 91)**

I'm getting better at this new calendar. It feels unnatural, of course, but I'm going to have to get used to it. I'm starting to think a little about the future…that's a good thing, I suppose.

On another note, I finally learned my Thedas mother's name. It's been bothering me for ever, but I couldn't think of an inconspicuous way to ask anyone before. Today she tried to teach me how to spell my name.

I don't know if I've said it before but I really dislike that name. Everyone calls me Lee-Anne, and it just sounds unmanly and wrong for me. Not to say that Noel is a manly name…or even that I'm a big manly man… I don't know. I just like my real name better.

Anyway.

"L-e-a-n-n-e-n" she wrote out for me on a scrapped scroll of paper, and I tried painfully hard to copy it slowly and disproportionately. She smiled so happily at my efforts. We were lying down on the cold floor between our beds in the servants' quarters with the paper between us. She had a small jar of ink and a gull-feather quill (similar to the one that I stole from her bedside months ago and am using now), but she gave me an angular lump of charcoal wrapped in leather to 'learn' to write with.

I asked her, "How do I spell 'mom'?" and she wrote that out too and I copied it.

Then I said, "Now I can spell both our names" and she laughed.

"No," She pulled the paper gently back towards herself and wrote something slowly before pushing the paper back across the floor.

Talia.

I copied it slowly, hiding my joy at ending the mystery, while she explained how 'mom' wasn't her given name. I nodded along.

I still wonder what her family name is. It isn't important, but it would be good to know.

From observation, I've found that elven names are either angelic or West Indian in origin. Leannen is neither; it's a strong, Fereldan human name. I imagine she was thinking ahead when she gave it to her human son (me?). Like most elf-bloods, Leannen is expected to eventually cut ties with his family in an attempt to live a better life amongst humans. It's a little sad…

I stared at her for a while. She's so young. Just about my age, actually, maybe a few months older. We would have been in the same grade if we went to school together.

Back home I would have turned my nose up at such a young mother with no father to be found, but things are different in this world (or maybe I'm a little different, now). She loves her son as much as my real mother loved me. I can't judge her. I certainly can't keep being cold to her.

She looked so happy and proud; teaching me. A child like me must have ruined her life…but she never looks unhappy. I'm starting to admire this woman. I wish I could befriend her on an equal level.

* * *

**A/N: **And there's chapter 8, finally! Unfortunately it feels more like a filler chapter than anything. It was originally much longer, but I felt it was running a little long and decided to cut and paste half of it into the next chapter. As an apology for the long wait, I have an extra journal entry for you! It's the first part of the entry which details his first experiences in Thedas, so it's pretty heavy.

* * *

**Harvestmere 14, 9:21 Dragon (Day 360)**

A year. It's actually been a year.

Talia gave me a wooden toy dog for my birthday and she brought me to the alienage today and made me play with my cousins. They aren't all my cousins, actually, only about four of them are blood relatives, I just realized. Apparently, kids in the alienage are encouraged to think of all the other kids as their cousins. I think it's to make them less likely to want to intermarry later on, or it's to build up a strong, tight community, or something.

Anyway, I was thinking I should write a little bit about my 'arrival', since I can't find the first few pages of my journal (I think I recall burning them? That sounds like a stupid thing to do. Why did I do that?). I've been thinking about it all week, trying to put everything in discernible order…

I can't seem to pinpoint the exact moment when I left Earth. I can clearly remember all my older memories; though I suppose I wouldn't really know if any were missing…

Last I remember I was in St. Petersburg, spending summer vacation at Danya's . Exams were over, and I was obsessively re-checking my grades online. My physics prof. always waited until the very last moment to post the results, leaving me anxious. Both my Russian and History grades being behind the class average, too. Wow, I can't believe I remember such useless details.

Danya was depressed about something. He didn't want to do anything but drink and play video games, and none of his friends had visited or even called in the time I was there. We spent our time just playing, drinking, watching movies, and eating my mediocre cooking (or pickles with black bread and vodka, when Dan insisted on feeding me for once). I have no clue how many days passed like that; they drunkenly blended together, and it didn't help that the sun hardly ever set that time of year, in those parts.

One day I just woke up feeling particularly odd. The room was quite dark, save for a bit of light trickling in from somewhere. My head ached and I couldn't quite concentrate, but I had been on a bender with my Russian half-brother, so that wasn't too unusual.

I could feel someone in bed with me though, and hear their even breathing. That was weird, but it wouldn't have been too out of character for Dan to pass out on the bed with me (it was his bed after all, we were taking turns sleeping on the couch). What was odd was that the person behind me was neither snoring like a beast, nor sleep-mumbling about something ridiculous like dolphin rape (related noted: Dan made an unforgettable chaperone for my cub-scout camping trip; falling asleep well before the kids he was supposed to be watching. My peers still brought it up every now and then, even after high school).

I moved my hand to rub my eyes and ended up slapping myself in the face; my arm felt so strange, like there wasn't an ounce of muscle. Like it was smaller.

It _was_ smaller. I stared at my chubby little hands for a good while, squinting and tilting my head at all angles, trying to rationalize what I was seeing and feeling.

'Had Dan slipped me some kind of drug?' was my first thought. 'What a dick.'

I tried to recall the night before, but all I found were the hazy few memories described earlier. It made me realize how unhealthily I had been spending my summer, and how _very_ unhealthy it was for a grown man like my brother (who is eight years my senior).

I flipped over, expecting to see him next to me, half-naked with a bottle clutched to his chest.

It wasn't him, though. It was some woman with long red hair.

I rolled off the bed so fast, it made my head hurt even more. I fell to a cold, dirty floor with a very small thud.

I was panicking then, albeit quietly. I looked down at my tiny body and tried to will away what I was seeing. I closed my eyes and mentally counted to ten, reopening them to the same unbelievable image. I pinched myself to see if I was dreaming; once gently, then a second time, hard enough to bruise. Then I checked my pulse; it was fast, obviously, I don't know why I thought I needed to check.

I looked around at my surroundings, glad for the light that was leaking in from the half-open door. There was the cheap, dingy-looking bed, looming in front of me with the strange woman still sound asleep on it. The room was fairly small and the walls all old, splintery-looking wood. The floor appeared to be just dirt. There was a window with thick, neutral coloured curtains near the far corner, away from the bed,

I spent a good long while just sitting there on the floor, staring at the ground, waiting to wake up or snap out of whatever I was in. I sat like that for hours, barely moving, as the room lit up with the rising sun.

"Leannen?"

I looked up quickly. I forgot all about the woman. She was awake, sitting at the edge of the bed, watching me carefully. Her face was…strange, I thought, and eerie. Her eyes were enormous, and her ears were…inhumanly long.

She stared at me and I tilted my head, staring back. I really didn't have the energy to try and flee. I figured I'd go with the flow.

The more I looked at her, the more familiar her features seemed. I couldn't put my finger on it right away though.

"Good morning." She said softly, a small quiver in her voice.

I blinked and responded out of habit, "Good morning." My voice was high, and a little scratchy, as if from disuse.

The woman brought her long, dainty hands to her mouth and tears welled in her enormous eyes, causing mine to widen with confusion.

"Hello?" She whispered loudly, sounding seconds away from sobbing.

"Um…" my brows furrowed and I tilted my head slightly, "hi."

She lunged forward and pulled me into her arms. I was too shocked to scream or struggle; I just went limp in her embrace and listened and she cried into my tiny shoulder. The situation was strange and confusing as hell, but it was hard to be properly terrified when there was a girl crying on me.

I realised then that she looked just like an elf from Dragon Age 2. I didn't immediately think that I was in Thedas, though; I still thought I was either dreaming or tripping.

She was mumbling unintelligible things. I caught bits and pieces, "Maker…my boy…it worked"

"Who are you?" I said finally, working hard to keep my voice even.

She held me tighter, "I'm your mother!"

"Oh." What the hell could I say to that? "Really?"

She pulled back and looked me in the eyes. She had a very bittersweet smile.

I still haven't figured out all of the details, but I've gathered that Leannen was born with some kind of defect. For the first four years of his life, he didn't make a sound or make any kind of facial expression, nor did he play or bother to move around. It sounds to me like it might have been severe autism, but the healer Talia's been bringing him/me to describes it as being born effectively tranquil.

Talia was desperate to do something to help her son. She made the resident healer (an apostate who I believe is related to her somehow) to perform some kind of ritual on the four-year-old, to try and fix him.

Somehow, that ritual is what put me here in this body. I've been thinking about this a lot.

I don't know all the details. I imagine if the child was believed to be disconnected from the fade, then they must have made an attempt to reconnect him.

The mage didn't think it would work. I could tell from the look on her face she came into the room and saw Talia's hopeful smile. She told Talia go in to work, and spent the whole day just watching me. I think she thought I might be an abomination.

I actually might be one.

I have a few theories on what happened to me…

My first theory is that Leannen is my reincarnated self, and the ritual awakened the memories of my past life. I like this one, except it implies that I died, and I don't remember dying (not sure if I would want to, anyway). There wouldn't be any way to go home. Also, why would I be reincarnated in DA?

My second theory is that the ritual, while looking to connect Leannen to the fade, somehow found and connected me to the boy. But that would mean I'm essentially possessing the kid, and I'm not sure how I feel about that… Though, I could theoretically be able to wake up back home by somehow cutting the connection.

My third theory is that, somehow, Leannen and I have switched bodies. This one creeps me out the most. A young adult in a child's body, that's pretty bad; but a four-year-old in my almost-19-year-old body? Leannen wouldn't know what was going on, or who Dan was, and he wouldn't really know right from wrong or how to take care of himself… He would probably hurt someone, or himself, and be declared insane… Then when we finally switch back, I'll have lost over a year of my life and won't be able to get a job 'cause people won't believe I'm sane…

My last theory is that none of this is real and I'm in an asylum, imagining everything. I don't like this theory.

I'd rather not be crazy.

I really, really hope I'm not crazy.


End file.
